CHAPTER 75: [75] HOW TO CARE FOR A CAPTAIN

Pierre stepped back from the wheel, his ribs screaming in protest. Raven moved to take his place. She adjusted their heading slightly, her fingers dancing over the spokes like she was playing a familiar instrument.

"We’re making good time," she said, eyes fixed on the horizon. "Should reach the outer shipping lanes by tomorrow evening."

"And then?"

Raven’s shoulders tensed. "That depends on what you want to do with your share of the money."

Your share. Not our share. Not what we want to do. The careful distance in her voice was like a wall going up between them.

Pierre understood the impulse. Getting attached to people was dangerous in their line of work. It made you vulnerable. It made you do stupid things like risking your life for someone else’s principles.

But understanding didn’t make it hurt any less.

He made his way to the port rail, each step a careful negotiation between his injured ribs and his stubborn pride. The sea stretched endlessly in all directions, blue-green water broken only by the occasional whitecap. Somewhere out there, Jack Steelheart was probably causing more well-intentioned chaos. Somewhere else, Moreau was staring at an artifact that had lost all meaning.

And here on the Crimson Sparrow, three people who’d found something worth fighting for were pretending it had never happened.

Pierre touched the sea-blue stone at his throat, Mika’s gift warm against his fingers. The little girl had given it to him as a reminder of safe harbor—a piece of home to carry wherever his journey took him. But what did home mean when you were floating between destinations with no clear idea of where you belonged?

"You should sit down."

Alyssa had followed him to the rail, her pale green eyes dark with concern. She held a small bowl in her hands, steam rising from whatever was inside.

"I’m fine standing."

"No, you’re not." She held out the bowl. "Soup. It’s not much, but it’s warm and it’s food."

Pierre looked down at the offering. The liquid was thin and pale, more like flavored water than actual soup, but it smelled of herbs and salt and something that might have been fish. His stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten anything substantial since before their infiltration of the caves.

"Thanks." He reached for the bowl, and immediately regretted it. His hands shook with exhaustion, making the simple act of holding a bowl feel like a monumental challenge.

Alyssa noticed, because of course she did. She’d been watching him like a hawk ever since they’d escaped Orellia, cataloging every wince and stumble with the same intensity she’d once applied to Navy protocol.

"Here." She moved closer, steadying the bowl with her own hands. "Let me help."

"I can manage."

"Pierre." Her voice was soft but firm, the tone of someone who’d made a decision and wouldn’t be swayed from it. "You fought a man with twin sabers when you could barely stand. You touched that... thing... that could have killed you, just to know. You’ve been at that wheel for hours." She took a breath, her gaze unwavering. "You should be in bed. But you’re not. So let someone help."

She paused. Her fingers were warm against his, a small point of heat in the cold sea air. For a moment, they just stood there, holding the bowl together.

"Let someone take care of you for once."

The words hit harder than they should have. Pierre couldn’t remember the last time someone had offered to take care of him—really offered, without expecting something in return. Even in his previous life, relationships had been transactional things, built on mutual benefit rather than genuine concern.

But here was Alyssa Hardy, former Navy princess and current First Mate of a pirate crew, offering soup and comfort like they were the most natural things in the world.

"Why?" The question slipped out before he could stop it.

Alyssa’s pale green eyes met his, and for a moment, her carefully composed mask slipped. He saw exhaustion there, and confusion, and something that might have been fear. But underneath it all was something steady and sure—a bedrock of conviction that hadn’t been there when she’d first stepped aboard this ship.

"Because you’re my captain," she said simply. "And because..." She hesitated, color rising in her cheeks. "Because when I was lying on that stone floor, bleeding and certain I was about to die, the first thing I thought was that I was glad it was me instead of you."

The admission hung between them like a bridge neither of them was sure they wanted to cross. Pierre felt Hardy’s darkness stir at the words, recognizing the kind of loyalty it had always craved but never truly earned.

She’d die for you, the voice whispered. They both would. That’s power you can’t buy or steal.

Pierre pushed the thought away, but it left an uncomfortable truth in its wake. He looked from Alyssa’s determined face to Raven’s rigid back at the helm. It settled on him then, not as a noble thought, but as a cold, heavy weight in his gut. These weren’t just crewmates. They weren’t assets. They were responsibilities. Two lives now inexplicably tangled with his. Two more people he could fail.

"You don’t have to—"

"Yes, I do." Alyssa’s grip on the bowl tightened. "We all do. That’s what this is, isn’t it? This thing we’ve built between the three of us?"

She gestured toward Raven, who was still standing at the wheel with her back to them. "She can pretend it’s just business, and you can pretend you don’t need anyone, but we all know better. We’re not the same people who left Hotaru Town. We can’t go back to being strangers."

Pierre looked down at the soup, steam rising between their joined hands. The simple act of sharing a meal shouldn’t have felt so significant, but somehow it did. Like crossing a line they couldn’t uncross.

"The soup’s getting cold," he said finally.

Alyssa smiled—the first real smile he’d seen from her since the caves. "Then you’d better drink it."

She guided the bowl to his lips, and Pierre let her. The soup was thin and salty, more like warm broth than anything substantial, but it was warm and it was offered freely. That made it the best thing he’d tasted in days.

When he’d finished, Alyssa took the empty bowl and stepped back. But she didn’t go far—just enough to give him space while staying close enough to catch him if he fell.

"Better?"

"Better." Pierre leaned against the rail, feeling marginally more human. "Thank you."

"Don’t thank me yet. Wait until you see what I’m planning to cook for dinner."

The joke was weak, but it was an attempt at normalcy. Pierre found himself almost smiling in response.

He touched the smooth warmth of Mika’s stone.

Home.

The thought was warm, comforting. But as he looked out at the endless, churning sea, a colder realization followed. Home wasn’t a place. It was people. And people were vulnerabilities. People could be targeted.

Taken.