Novari hadn't fallen asleep. How could she? Everson had pulled her into something resembling a bear-hug, and the covers were nearly suffocating her. He smelled like some sort of spice that made her sneeze, and his breath was so warm it was making her whole body sweat.

She gently pushed against his arms as he slept, but he'd locked her in a death grip. She brought her knee up and pushed back against his chest, but then she overestimated how much pressure she needed and ended up falling over the side of the bed.

She rolled over and sat up, glancing at him, still sleeping. She rolled her neck and reached over to pull on something comfortable. The night was deep and dark, and she needed air.

She looked at him again as she left him there alone in her room. He slept peacefully. He looked simple, but he wasn't. She'd suspected it before, and now she was sure of it.

Novari reached for the door. Outside, there was a cat on the ground.

She blinked. She looked behind her. She looked back. The cat was still there. It was a matted black, with white paws and luminous yellow eyes.

Novari glanced down the hallway. She stepped around the cat. Weird.

The wind blew softly over the deck. She looked back at the cat. It had followed her to the topdeck. She cleared her throat, uncomfortable.

The air was cold and bitter. She leaned against the rail and glanced up at the window in the captain's quarters. The red curtains were pulled aside, and soft candlelight glinted outwards.

She wondered if he was up. If he were sitting up at his desk, slaving over deeds or deals, or if he were sleeping in his room, alone. She wondered if she could go up there, what he'd do if she did. Novari knew men, and she knew she'd like his style better than Everson's.

The rail bit into her back. She kept her eyes on the window. The captain's quarters were probably empty as he slept; he just forgot to put out the candles.

She sighed deeply. Beside her, the sound of feet dropped to the ground, causing her to startle.

A girl came down from the crow's nest. Novari squinted at her, realizing this was Lyra Tailsley, the quiet, young girl who'd avoided her gaze most of the time.

"It's late to be out," the girl said, her voice a whisper. She took up the spot next to Novari on the rail.

Novari glanced at her. "Needed some air," she said.

Tailsley nodded. "Lyra Tailsley," she introduced herself. "We haven't officially met."

"Novari Silta."

"I know. Everybody does."

Novari watched her carefully, waiting for what she suspected would come.

"I need you," Tailsley said quietly. She didn't look at Novari as she continued, "He's going to cut me. I know it."

"Why's that?"

"He only needed me for one thing," she whispered. "Something that you're much better at."

Novari blinked a few times. Seduction, she guessed. But that wasn't the only reason Bardarian hadn't already cut Tailsley.

"He's going to drop me," she said again.

"You want me to make you better," Novari concluded.

Tailsley pursed her lips. There were a million thoughts inside her young head, spiralling around. "If you can," she said.

Novari watched the waves crash into the hull. "You're wrong. You're useful, small, the underdog of the game. Not enough to bring you aboard, perhaps, but if you're already here? You're not bad enough for him to consider killing you and upsetting the crew."

"The crew wouldn't be upset. They don't like me."

"They don't need to. Killing a crew member would cause unease regardless. It could mean them next."

Lyra let out a deep breath. "You think?"

Novari nodded, looking out at the waves. "I know."

Lyra glanced up at the captain's quarters. "I've got a question for you," she said.

Novari didn't answer.

"How did Everson treat you?" she asked. She turned to look up at Novari, who glanced over at her.

"You know I was with him?"

"Everyone does. He left the common room announcing where he was going, and sending him away would make you unattainable. More of a chase to everyone else."

"You think he's a tactical move?" Novari asked.

"I know he is," Lyra replied. "If you pick someone powerful and latch onto them, that shuts you off as an option to everyone else. Focuses them on your skill rather than your looks."

Novari searched her form. "Was that what you did?"

"I tried to. You killed mine on Canale."

Novari might have forgotten about that.

"Doesn't matter," Tailsley said bitterly. "He wasn't enough of a threat to keep anyone else away in the end. I needed someone with actual power—Britter, Rusher, Everson. Ideally Bardarian, but he never looks twice at me. He does at you, which makes it all the more confusing why you went a rung below him."

Novari set her jaw. Because Bardarian overshadowed her, and Everson didn't. People didn't recognize Everson in bars or craft stories from his name when he was gone. Novari found out that he'd only just been instated as first mate the day the Sirens attacked them. No one would call her Everson's girl like they did to whoever Bardarian put his arm around.

Lyra spoke again, "You didn't answer my question."

Novari took a long breath. "How did Everson treat me?"

Lyra nodded.

"Why do you ask?"

"I've heard things about him. And there's blood on your neck."

Novari found her skin prickling. She was no stranger to men like Everson, but never had she had a man fight with her so much. Never had she had someone be so aggressive to what they already had. It was as if she wasn't there at all, just the shell of her body.

"Selfish lover," Novari concluded.

"Violent is the better word."

It was, but Novari didn't quite think it would be smart to say so.

"There's something wrong with Everson," Lyra said. Her voice was harsh. "Something very wrong. Can't you see that? I heard about your soul reading."

"He's evil," Novari said. "He likes pain. Most people in this business are."

"No," Lyra corrected. "They deal with pain and they dole out pain. They don't enjoy it. Do you?" She nodded to Novari's tattoo.

She considered it. She didn't enjoy killing someone, but she liked the success, the power. She supposed those things were different.

"It's not enjoyment," she replied.

"Exactly. Drop Adrian."

"I can't drop him now."

"You could. You could go above his head."

Novari sighed, long and annoyed. She wondered if Bardarian had put them all in a room while she was in the cells and demanded they point Novari towards him at all opportunities.

"No," she said.

Lyra sighed. She leaned down and pet the cat that had followed Novari, who realized it was real and not some weird hallucination.

Lyra explained, "This is Whale, our ship's cat. He eats the mice. He's an investment."

Novari watched the cat start to purr. She found animals particularly annoying. Whale rubbed against her ankles.

Above them, the door to the captain's quarters closed loudly, and they both looked up. Bardarian jogged down the steps.

"Were you up scouting, Tailsley?" he asked across the deck. His hair was still brushed back, that long coat still spotless. So he hadn't been asleep.

"Yes, sir," Tailsley replied, coming to attention. Novari looked down at Tailsley's feet. Did they have to do that every time Bardarian was around?

"I came down to talk to Silta," Tailsley was saying. "I'll go back up. Sorry, sir." Lyra made her way back to the pole.

Bardarian reached out to her shoulder to stop her, no intent or purpose to his touch. It should be the kind of thing Tailsley appreciated, but it clearly made her bitter to think of the protection she was missing out on.

"We don't need a scout at night, Tailsley," he told her.

"Yes, Captain. But Courtley and Bates told me that you wanted me up there while we were anchored."

"They were messing with you, darling. I didn't tell them anything."

Novari watched Lyra's face twist with embarrassment. She looked away from Bardarian. She mumbled something, glanced at Novari, then headed belowdecks.

Novari watched Bardarian turn around. Perfect hair, perfect posture, perfect clothes. It didn't even make sense to be so proper. He was a pirate. He should've had yellow teeth, torn clothes, muddy hair.

"You're out late," he said.

"So are you." She paused. "Do I have to—" She gestured to her feet.

"No," he said. "This isn't the navy."

"Tailsley seems to think it is."

"Tailsley is a sycophant. There's blood on your neck."

That caught her off guard. She reached up to wipe it. It was dried already, though, so it didn't come off.

"I meant to talk to you about what you said in the common room," he said, stepping a little closer. "I would've found you after, but I think you were busy."

Novari held his gaze. He was talking about his tattoo, letting the crew think they'd been together. "I didn't break any of your rules."

"Not exactly, but you sidestepped them. I didn't find it funny."

"I'm not interested in amusing you. I'm interested in gaining respect from everyone else."

"If you wanted respect, you wouldn't have slept with one of them on your first night."

"But you make the player reputation sound so fun," Novari replied, because it wouldn't be professional to shout hypocrite in his face.

"I don't play with lovers like they're toys. I just don't keep ties. There's a difference," he said. Calm as ever, rational as ever.

"I didn't play with Everson," Novari said.

"You pitted us against each other. Drove a wedge between us. On purpose."

Novari laughed at that. "It shouldn't be so easy to drive a wedge between such powerful men. One pretty thing and suddenly the two of you are at war?"

He lifted his chin. She expected a raise in his tone, a frustrated and cheap argument thrown back at her. That's what everyone did when they were insulted.

Not him. He took his time with his reply, kept his emotions in check. "This ship depends on mine and Everson's trust of each other. He asked for you, and I told him he could have you, only for you to make it look like I was going back on it. That causes him not to trust me. Do you see the problem?"

"You said he could have me?"

He blinked, clearly irritated that was all she got from his little speech. "I have a rule. No lovers on the ship. He asked if he could break it, I said it was fine. Did you hear what I said?"

"I'm confused," Novari said. "If I wanted you, there would be no rule. In fact, there was no rule back on Canale when you'd already accepted me onto your crew and still stood by what you said about us in that room."

"I don't want to talk about Canale. I want you to never pit Everson against me again. That's all I want."

But Novari wanted something from him. That infuriatingly patient tone, his seemingly indestructible calm—it faltered for just a moment, when she talked about Canale. She wanted him to lose it—really lose it. Scream and yell and do something out of character.

"I don't think you're mad at what happened in the common room. I think you're mad about what happened after. I think you're frustrated that I didn't leave with you."

"Whether or not I'm frustrated with what happened after doesn't make me any less mad about what happened before."

Angels, he was good. That second rule, the one she was supposed to be so good at—he was excellent at it, displaying only what he wanted her to see.

Novari wondered why she was obsessed with shattering his poker face. Did it make her feel powerful to break him? Or did she simply hate how good he was at hiding all those things he really felt?

"One does affect the other," she said. "I didn't do anything wrong. If I'm going to be punished every time I don't pick you, then you might as well take me upstairs now." She took a step closer, lifted a mocking hand to his chest. "Lay me down on those expensive sheets where I can be your hundredth notch—do you think then you'll find me tolerable then, love?"

And finally, he snapped. "Don't touch me." He pushed her wrist away at first, then all of her, forcing her to take a few steps back. Even so, he took a few forward anyway, still crushing her wrist and causing more pain than she'd admit. "I am not punishing you for anything—"

"You are, all because I didn't pick you after what happened on Canale. I was doing what I had to—"

He brought her wrist down on the rail, and if she weren't a Siren, it would've snapped in half. She went to pull it away, but he held on even tighter, got even closer. He looked like he might shout at her, but he reeled it in at the last second, ever the poster boy of control.

"First of all, the next time you cut me off, I will snap this precious joint of yours in half—I don't care if you kill me after, because you'll still have a ruined wrist."

She pursed her lips, weighing her options.

He continued, "And second, don't tell me you had to. I'm tired of you spinning that narrative. You did not kiss me back because you had to. You did not take off my shirt to see my tattoo. You did those things because you wanted to. I heard what your friend said, and I know what happened because I was there. Don't use my own experience against me."

Novari shook her head, but she knew why she did those things.

He shook his head, too. "Follow my damn rules—loopholes don't count. Don't mess with my first mate and I. Go back to him, let him push you around and make you bleed like we both know he did. That's not my business, so keep me out of it. Don't talk about my real name or my tattoos, and for the Devil's sake, don't talk about what happened in that room ever again." He let go of her wrist, then turned around and took the stairs, disappearing into his quarters.

The black cat purred at her feet, so she nudged it away. It pawed at her ankle in retaliation.

"He's the asshole," Novari hissed at the cat—Whale, Lyra had called him.

Then, in disbelief at the fact she'd just spoken to a cat, she whirled around and went belowdecks. She didn't want to go back to Everson and his death grip. Not after all that. But he was in her room.

The room was still dark, and he was still sleeping. Novari rounded on his side and nudged him once. When he didn't wake, she took his arm and started to pull him off the bed. His eyes finally blinked open and he squirmed a little.

"Novari—what the hell?"

"Get out."

"What?"

"Get out," Novari told him. "I don't sleep next to people."

He gave her an incredulous look, his eyes painfully dark. "You had no problem sleeping with me—"

"I said get out." She tugged on his arm, pulling him up.

He groaned in annoyance. "You're dramatic." He smiled as he turned around, getting to his feet and finding his shirt.

Novari turned around, too, opening the door for him.

He tilted his head at her. "You're so pretty," he said.

"Out," she snapped. It was enough with the sensory overload, the hot skin, the difficulty breathing.

He grinned and slipped through the door. Gave her another smile as she shut the door behind him.

Novari turned around again. The cat was on her bed, curled up on one of the pillows.

"No," she told it. "No way."

The cat didn't move, but she could hear it purring. She walked over to it and tapped its head, but it still refused to move. When she pushed the side of its body towards the door, it simply lifted its head and purred louder.

Novari tucked her hand under it and set it on the ground. She rolled over, but as soon as soon as she'd set her head against the pillow, the cat clambered back onto the bed, settling beside her face. She pushed it to the other pillow, far away from her. "That's your side," she told it. "Stay on your side."

The cat purred away on the far side of the bed, so she rolled over.