Vallin started a very dangerous game.

Pitting Silta and Everson against each other had been a good idea, but only if it turned out the way he thought it would. He'd told himself he wasn't doing it to drive them apart, but maybe that had something to do with it. Either way, it needed to happen.

He sighed and leaned against the rail. The day was warm, but Silta had opted for the long sleeve crew's uniform, all parts of her covered. She'd be harder to cut that way, and her skin wouldn't stick with sweat. Ever so methodical.

Everson had to be dragged from the common room onto the deck, and he'd complained the whole way. He was still complaining now, his black eyes furrowed.

"Can't we do this later?" he was asking Vallin. "It's hot out today."

"Terrified of a teenager, are we?" Vallin asked him calmly.

"I am not," he snapped. It was far too easy to read him. Silta, with her fiery eyes and poker face, was nearly impossible to read.

She bounced on her feet a few paces away, rolling her shoulders. Her muscles were relaxed and her face was still, but the cords in her neck were flexed. She was terrified of doing this. Terrified to lose. Vallin turned back to Everson.

"It seems like you are," he said.

"I have better uses of my time with her," Everson said, rubbing that in Vallin's face as much as he could.

Across the deck, Silta's brows drew, which made it clear to Vallin that she didn't quite agree.

He gestured to the deck. "Get moving. Miller! On standby, please."

Skye appeared next to him, and he glanced over at her.

"Am I supposed to stop the fight if it gets out of hand?" she asked.

"I'll do that," Vallin said, turning his attention back to the deck.

Everson groaned out loud and moved over to the mast. The crew had gathered to watch, perching on the rails or the mast ladder to get a better view. Everson hadn't ever lost a hand-to-hand match, and it was clear they had already placed bets on a winner.

Vallin watched her eyes scan Everson. His weaknesses and his strengths, surely, planning out every possibility in her mind.

She glanced up to look at him. Her face was clear, but Vallin had every reason to believe she was furious. She hated the way he had talked to her, the criticisms he'd given. She'd begun to stand on the balls of her feet near him just to look him in the eye. Vallin found it amusing at the same time as he found it annoying, considering he already felt small in her vicinity.

Britter walked into the middle deck, spinning in a slow circle to address the crew. "Match rules!" he shouted. "No biting. No pulling hair. No purposely snapping any extremities—"

"I say we play dirty," Silta said, cutting Britter off. She looked only at Everson. "Break what you want, pull what you want."

Everson grinned, but he didn't like that, Vallin knew. Silta may have had the hair disadvantage, but she had a Siren body—better suited to handle injury all-round. Still, he had no choice but to agree; he couldn't back down from a challenge.

"Fine," Britter said. "Nothing is off limits, except weapons. However, you cannot leave the matchspace. You can only stay in the drawn-out lines. Understood?"

Everson waved him away, and Silta nodded swiftly. Britter smiled. "Match started."

Everson didn't waste time. He moved forward, straight for her face with his arm.

It appeared her reaction time was wickedly fast, but Vallin knew better—she'd simply seen it coming. She ducked and twirled around him, tripping his foot with hers and sending them both falling face-forward into the rail. Everson's mouth hit the top of the wood with a crack, but he didn't react. He rolled over, crushing her against the rail. He drove the back of his elbow behind him, and Vallin heard the noise of impact. Everson did it again.

He watched carefully to see how she'd get out of this. He thought of a few paths he would take himself, and she didn't do any of them. She threw her leg over Everson's shoulder from behind and used his other shoulder to pull herself up. She pushed off his neck and flipped through the air, back onto the middle deck. She rolled back to her feet, effortlessly nimble.

It was the type of move the crew of the Avourienne hadn't seen before—it was acrobatics of some sort, completely unpredictable.

Everson watched her carefully as they circled. They were playing different games. His main attribute was his speed, but it appeared Silta was just as fast. Then came his agility, which Silta completely dominated. He'd have to beat her with strength.

Everson had clearly come to the same conclusion. He darted forward and took her by the shoulders, pressing her into the rail. He kept her there with his knee to her stomach and hit her over the jaw. She tried to roll; he didn't allow it. He hit her again.

Blood curled under her nose after the third hit. Everson might've been breaking it. When the punches got old, he slammed his forehead into hers, and the crack following was loud and resounding.

"I think she's done, Captain," Miller said from beside Vallin.

"Just wait," he replied.

Silta leaned back over the rail, her back arching far more than was natural. She leaned back so far that Everson started to lean over the rail as well, and then she pushed off the ground with both legs, bringing one up to Everson's face. She kicked him hard, and he fell back from the rail, onto the deck. He stumbled to his feet, blood pouring from his mouth.

So much force should've pushed her fully over the rail, but she spun back easily, slipping back onto the deck and after Everson, catching him while he was still disoriented. She wrapped a leg around his hips, pulling him in close, then drove her elbow into his throat. He coughed loudly, sputtering. She reached her left arm over the right side of his head immediately after, pushing his head down from the back and kicking her legs up. Everson went face-first to the ground, her back to his as he landed. She rolled off him, her breaths coming easily. Vallin watched the muscles in her leg flex and relax, like some sort of panther or cat.

She glanced at Vallin. Blood ran down her face from her nose and sweat beaded on her forehead. Her eyes were eerily calm.

He realized she wanted approval. She was at least matching Everson, and she wanted him to say something about it. He didn't.

She held his gaze for far too long—Everson was getting up. Finally, she looked away, anger dissolving in her expression. Hiding how she felt.

She placed her foot on Everson's forehead again, kicking him back. He groaned in pain, rolling over to get to his feet. He spit out a mouthful of blood.

"You're nasty, doll," Everson said grimly. "I liked you better last night."

The crew would've laughed if they weren't so invested in the fight. Britter was drawing some of Silta's moves on his arm.

"I think you're kinder to me today," Silta replied. Her voice was low and grating.

Vallin hadn't known Everson was that bad. He knew he was a rougher person at night, but he never assumed he'd act that way to someone like Silta. Vallin was an evil person who had killed and stolen, but good reviews were better for his ego. That, and he'd never went to war with anyone that hadn't voluntarily entered a life of danger. In some way, he wished she hadn't said it aloud. He wished it was just a concept that the crew knew about but weren't familiar enough to do something about.

Everson tilted his head at her response, blood matting his hair. "Don't play with me," he said, moving closer as she sidestepped with him. "Don't act like you couldn't get away."

It was true, in a way—that if she'd wanted, she could've left him or done something about it. Why let it happen if she'd hated it so much? Vallin wasn't really following.

Silta narrowed her eyes, as if she'd been trapped into an argument that she could fight in her head but couldn't quite fight it out loud—like she couldn't quite explain it.

"I can get away from you," she sad, moving forward and ducking under his arm. She moved her body into continuing his attempted hit—it drove his fist back into his own jaw.

She whispered then, her voice just a fragment of the wind.

"What about the ones that can't?" She drew back, her lips curled into a snarl. "You hold them down?"

Everson kicked her in the stomach with his knee. He bared his teeth. "Watch what you say, doll." He held her by the back, kicking her again. One more time, and Vallin saw her shoulders curl.

Everson was furious. He didn't like what she was saying, didn't like being accused of it. He kicked again and again, holding her still. She spun and rolled, but he grabbed her hair by the root and pulled, keeping her where he needed her.

Everyone wanted to call it, but Silta had been the one to challenge the rules. They couldn't play favourites.

"She's done now, Captain," Miller said loudly.

"She's not," Tailsley spoke from beside Miller. "She's not done." She raised her voice, so Silta and Everson could hear. "You're not done."

Vallin glanced at the other girl. Something was in her expression, like she needed Silta to prove a point that she couldn't.

Silta's head rolled to the side, her eyes lazy. She turned to the side and spit out more blood. She coughed, her breathing heaving.

Everson didn't stop. He kicked again, because she wasn't giving up. Vallin's fingers itched. She should tap. Anyone else would tap.

Tailsley moved beside Vallin so Silta could hear her better. She hissed something to her, so Vallin leaned in to hear.

She snarled, "He does hold them down."

Silta's gaze lifted to Tailsley's, fingers tightening on Everson's neck.

"This is what it's like to be trapped," Everson snarled. "For real."

Silta spit blood out onto the deck again.

"She'll get internal bleeding from that, Captain," Skye insisted. "Pull her out."

Finally, Silta leaned into Everson and matched his game. She bit him over the shoulder. When he gritted his teeth in pain, she slipped out from under him and rolled away with too much force. She landed at Vallin's feet, her head slamming into his boot. He moved his foot as she pushed up into a crouch and coughed out another clot of blood.

"She's going to have damage, Captain," Skye said, pushing at Vallin's arm. "Pull her out."

Vallin watched Silta stand up again. He ignored Miller. She'd be fine.

Silta spit out the blood from Everson's shoulder, and Vallin saw skin in it. She flashed Everson a smile, her canines bloody.

He barrelled into her again. He snatched her wrist, then pulled her shoulder all the way out of the socket.

She snarled in pain, a muted sound for such an injury. She tried to pull away, but he put his other hand on her shoulder, bringing his leg down.

"No!" Skye screamed. She darted into the playing space, arms out. "Don't—"

Everson brought his leg down. Silta's arm snapped, the bone of her forearm ripping through her skin.

She screamed now, a tortured, horrible sound. Her head was back as she gritted her teeth, tears slipping from the corner of her eyes. Vallin closed his eyes, then looked out at the horizon.

Everson grinned at the sound she'd made, like he'd finally succeeded in making her experience some real pain. He held her there, digging his fingers into her dislocated shoulder.

Silta looked at Vallin over Everson's shoulder, blood pouring from her nose and mouth, the bone of her arm still painfully out of place, jarred and ugly and ragged. She held his gaze, blood pouring from her arm.

Then she looked to the sky, and her eyes were so clear in meaning. Couldn't she be done? Couldn't she just conform like everyone else? Why did she have to be the one to make this point? For his part, Vallin kept his face straight; he was, above all, a performer.

She took a deep breath. Of course it had to be her; no one else could do it. Vallin hadn't thought she'd lose; he knew she'd win, but he suspected she'd have to pay for it.

She let out her breath, preparing herself. Finally, she drew back her broken, bloody arm and drove the sharp bone right into the base of Everson's neck. Dirty play for dirty players.

Everson's throat gurgled through the sound of Silta's scream, splitting the air. It would've captured everyone's attention had they not already had every ounce of it. Britter stepped down from the mast ladder, blinking away his disbelief. It was a nasty, bloody move that probably caused Silta more pain than Everson, but it also made her the very first person to administer him a defeat.

Silence followed as Everson tripped to the ground, gasping for breath, clutching at his neck. Miller immediately tried to step in, but this time it was Silta who stopped her.

"Don't touch him," she warned.

Miller tried to push past her, but Silta just kneed her away, holding her ruined arm close to her chest.

"He's dying!" Miller insisted, eyes darting from Everson, still crouched on the ground with blood pouring through his hands, to Silta.

"Then he'll tap," Silta said, glancing back at Everson, whose eyes rolled back in his head as he choked on the blood. "Tap," she snarled.

He grimaced, raising his black eyes to see her for one solid moment of contemplation. Finally, he gave the deck two hard taps, and Miller was finally allowed to get to him. The doctor barked out an order for Starle and Jackson to move him as she pressed her fingers to his neck to slow the bleeding—but that wasn't the kind of injury someone recovered from, was it?

Vallin stepped through the crowd, eyes on Silta as she watched Everson get dragged away. She took a step back, then stumbled a little. Pushing away the crew around him, he reached for her before she hit the rail, pulling her back up.

She curled her fingers around his wrist, nails biting into the skin of his palms, she tripped again, blinking rapidly as her world faded at the edges.

"Alright, drama girl," he said, catching her again. "You're fine."

Her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed in on herself, unconscious. Vallin caught her just above the ground. "Skye?" he called, maintaining his calm. "What do I do with her?"

"Set the shoulder!" Miller shouted back over the deck, still taking care of Everson. "Put pressure on the bleed and wait for me to fix the bone."

Vallin tucked his arm under her knees and lifted her up, shocked at just how heavy she was. Straining, he took the balcony steps one at a time. She let out a long breath as he footed the door to the captain's quarters open, head rolling back as she fought to stay awake this time.

"You knew," she breathed. "You knew I could beat him."

Vallin glanced at the couch, then opted for the larger bed. He lowered her onto the black duvet, but she wasn't letting him off. She wrapped the fingers of her good arm around his. "You belittled me so I'd have to prove it," she said.

"Just lean back." He reached for a shirt in his drawer and ripped it into a strip with his teeth.

"You knew," she whispered again. "I fell for it."

He turned and knelt beside her, sliding one hand over her shoulder and the other around her back. "Deep breath, stunner." In one sharp movement, he popped the shoulder back into its socket.

He felt the knifelike edge of one of her canines through his shirt as she gritted her teeth, stifling another scream. After she'd taken another few breaths, she leaned back a little and said softly, "Who am I to you?" Her eyes glistened with tears, blood streaming from over her brow. "Some toy?"

Vallin packed the shirt strips into her arm to slow the blood. "Quite the opposite." He met her beautiful gaze and said, "You're the new champion."