It was dark again, but this darkness felt different.

Novari crept into his room again, hours after she'd been let out. He hadn't let her out himself, but he'd sent Rusher to move the desk like he said he would. She'd gone down to the corner room and hidden from him until it was dark, but now she was back in his room. His room, not hers, not theirs. His bed, his window, his desk. His ship.

He was there, sleeping silently on his back, the edge of his jawline sharp in the moonlight. Novari made her way over, placed a knee on the mattress, causing his weight to shift. He let out a long sigh as he woke up.

When she laid her head on his chest, he lifted his arm, pulling her closer.

"I wouldn't leave," she whispered into the darkness. "I'm sorry."

She felt him nod above her. She felt the anger and the sadness and the hurt leak from him.

Then she waited. She waited so desperately to hear him say, 'I'll give you strategist,' or even, 'It kills me to see you receiving less than you deserve.' She waited for him to say anything to convince her to tear up her plan and throw it to the wind.

"I love you," he muttered back. He'd fallen back asleep, knowing she'd be there in the morning.

To her, those words had long since lost their meaning. They meant nothing to her anymore—not when he could show them in a thousand different ways. 'I love you' wasn't as strong in that moment as 'I'll give you what you deserve.'

She laid there, his arms loosening as he drifted further to sleep, his breathing deep and rhythmic. It was calming and comforting, the silence that moment held. It was easy and beautiful. Her, laying there with the man that loved her, that would protect her for as long as he lived.

But it wasn't enough.

She sat up slowly, his arm falling back down to the blankets. She was careful not to let anything creak as she glanced over at him, the moonlight draping his features. He was an beautiful man, but in the anticipation of this things she was about to do, he became even more beautiful, even harder to leave.

Some part of her hoped he would catch her leaving, that he would open his eyes and demand to know what she was doing. She just wanted one more chance at this.

But he stayed asleep, ocean eyes lost to her forever. She reached forward, hovered her finger over the bridge of his nose, over his lips. If only he could sleep like this, in his peace, forever. If only he wouldn't have to wake up a find it all gone again.

She drew away, placing her feet onto the ground, not making a sound. She slipped them into her boots and pulled on her coat. She glanced at his, hanging from the bedpost. She ran her fingers over the material.

She dropped a piece of paper into the pocket. She'd written it that evening, in the candlelight of her room. There wasn't much on it, just one Siren phrase, Halleveire monere.

He'd brought it up first. He'd been the one to tell her to live. So here she was, using it as an excuse to leave him. Maybe he would understand.

She held onto the coat for a moment, refusing to glance back over at him. She closed the door softly behind her.

In the drawer of his desk, she pulled out his mother's ring. She slipped it on her finger, watched it sparkle in the moonlight. She wanted to take it, to keep it. If he wanted to marry someone else, he could buy her a new one.

She dropped it back into the drawer. It wasn't hers. It could've been, but she chose otherwise out of her own free will. Maybe, in his heartbreak, he'd go back to that port, find that girl, Mona. Maybe he'd finally buy her a house, give her stability. Maybe she'd have his son.

Minnow brushed up against Novari's leg, so she glanced down at the cat.

No. If he got to keep the cat, she got to keep the ring. That was fair. She reached into the drawer one last time and curled it into her hand. Only because he got to keep the cat, she got to keep what was supposed to be hers. Was it petty? Maybe. Did she care? Not one bit.

Minnow was bigger now, the white of his fur covering his slender body. Novari had been compared to a cat before. Narrowed eyes sparkling with intelligence, easy agility and a vendetta for all other animals.

She couldn't take the cat with. Perhaps she wanted to, but she couldn't. It simply wasn't logical. So she set it down on the desk and went for the door. The cat followed her, scratching and meowing until she closed the door behind her. She heard it whining from through the thick wood.

She turned down the stairs. There was blood on the last step, from where she'd accidentally cracked Bardarian's head open the first day she met him. The first time they ever met—unbeknownst to him. She'd never had a chance to tell him that; she simply forgot to. Now she'd never get the chance.

She had the urge to go back. To wake him up and tell him. He deserved to know that the place they met was in his room, not in some musty space on Canale. He should know that.

Shaking her head, Novari stepped over the blood. She made her way to the rail, cutting the lines to the rowboat.

She sensed another presence only moments before she heard the voice.

"You're leaving."

Novari had her knife out immediately. She'd have to kill whoever it was. She'd have to make sure they didn't wake Bardarian.

Lyra stood across the deck, her seafoam eyes wide. Of course it was the her that had managed to sneak up.

"You don't love him?" Lyra inquired. "It was all an act?"

Novari shook her head, taking a step closer.

Lyra raised her hand in surrounder. "I won't tell. I won't wake him up. I promise."

Novari searched for the truth on her face before putting the knife away. "I do," she said steadily. "Love him. Just not more than myself."

Novari could've sworn she saw tears glisten in the younger girl's eyes. "You'll ruin him," she whispered.

"He doesn't love me enough either," Novari said cautiously, desperate to leave before someone woke. "Not enough to make me stay."

Lyra shook her head. "You'll ruin him, and this ship. I'm begging you to stay. Please stay."

"No amount of begging will make me stay." Novari cut the last rowboat line and prepared to lower it down. She planned to lower it all the way to the water, then jump over the rail into the ocean and crawl on board.

"I've never had love like that," Lyra whispered, taking the rope from Novari. "So I don't get to tell you that you'll regret it, although I think you will."

Novari stepped into the boat as Lyra held the lines. She turned to face the scout. "You could be in love," she whispered back to her. "If you looked in the right place."

Lyra didn't understand the comment, but maybe one day she would. "What does that mean?" she asked quietly.

Novari shook her head. "It's not my place to tell." She took a breath. "Tailsley, if a man ever tries to do what Everson did to you, you tell Bardarian. Do you understand?"

She shook her head. She didn't like how casually Novari had brought it up, but she had to know that Novari had figured it out. Everson had been doing what he did to Novari far before she'd come along, far worse.

Novari guessed Lyra didn't ever think about it. She pushed it far out of her mind to a place where she didn't have to deal with it. And if she did that, it could happen again.

"Bardarian wouldn't—" Lyra began.

"He would," Novari whispered. "His job is to protect you. He wouldn't stand for it, regardless of what he thinks of you. But if for some reason he doesn't help, throw my name around. I'll do my best."

Novari wasn't necessarily one for making friends, but there was something about this that struck a nerve with her. She could only guess, but her guesses were always accurate. She guessed that Lyra had been trying to get away, and that Everson did, in fact, hold them down.

Lyra nodded, blinking away tears. She let Novari's rowboat down slowly, holding her gaze until she disappeared over the rail.

The rowboat touched the eerily still water. When Novari looked back up, the Avourienne was gone. Invisible, hidden away in the night by the sky and the clouds. She reached out to touch it, but she'd already drifted too far.

She'd lived her whole life in admiration of that ship.

And here she was, rowing away from it.