The Silver Gull glided smoothly across the waves, its tattered sails catching the brisk morning wind. The open sea stretched endlessly in all directions, a vast expanse of blue and gray that offered little comfort to Jaune. He leaned against the railing at the stern, watching Vale shrink into the distance until it was no more than a faint smudge on the horizon.
Freedom tasted bittersweet.
Jaune knew that leaving the city was the right move, but his problems weren't left behind on the docks. He could still feel the weight of the ruby against his chest, its presence both reassuring and foreboding. He had no idea how valuable the gem truly was—or why the Duke and the Black Talon Syndicate were so desperate to get it back—but he was certain of one thing: he'd painted a target on his back that wouldn't fade anytime soon.
"Not much of a sailor, are you?"
Jaune turned to see a man standing a few paces away. He was older, with sun-weathered skin and a thick beard streaked with gray. His hands were calloused from years of work, and his sharp eyes scanned Jaune with an air of suspicion.
"Something like that," Jaune replied, keeping his tone casual.
The man stepped closer, resting his hands on the railing. "Name's Harwin. I'm the first mate on this ship. And you… don't look like one of our dockhands."
Jaune forced a small smile. "Just hitching a ride. A friend of the captain's."
Harwin's expression didn't change, but Jaune could see the doubt in his eyes. "Is that so? Funny, I don't recall the captain mentioning you."
Jaune shrugged, hoping to appear unfazed. "Guess he didn't think it was worth mentioning."
Harwin studied him for a moment longer, then let out a low chuckle. "Well, whatever your story is, I don't care—as long as you don't bring trouble aboard this ship."
"Trouble?" Jaune echoed, feigning innocence.
"I've been at sea long enough to recognize a man on the run," Harwin said, his voice low. "You've got the look. Eyes darting, shoulders tense, always glancing over your shoulder. You're hiding something."
Jaune's hand brushed against the edge of his coat, where his dagger was hidden. "Like I said, I'm just hitching a ride."
Harwin held his gaze for another long moment, then finally nodded. "Fair enough. But if anything goes wrong, don't expect us to stick our necks out for you."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Jaune said.
The first mate gave him a final once-over before walking away, leaving Jaune alone with his thoughts.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Jaune kept a low profile, staying out of the crew's way and avoiding unnecessary conversations. He watched the sailors work, their movements efficient and purposeful. Despite the tension that lingered in his chest, he felt a strange sense of calm being out at sea.
But as night fell, that calm was shattered.
Jaune was lying in the small cot he'd claimed in the corner of the cargo hold when he heard it—a faint scraping sound, like metal on wood. His eyes snapped open, and his hand instinctively went to the dagger tucked under his pillow.
The sound came again, closer this time.
Jaune slid silently out of the cot, his bare feet making no noise against the wooden floor. The cargo hold was dimly lit by a single lantern swinging from a beam, its light casting long shadows across the walls.
He moved toward the source of the noise, weaving between stacks of crates and barrels. His pulse quickened as he drew closer.
Then he saw it: a shadow moving near the hatch leading above deck.
Jaune froze, his grip tightening on the dagger. The figure moved with precision, almost soundlessly, as they descended the ladder into the cargo hold.
It wasn't a sailor.
The shadow paused, scanning the room as if searching for something—or someone.
The Hunter.
Jaune's blood ran cold. He thought he had escaped, but somehow, the Silent Hunter had tracked him to the ship.
He crouched low, using the crates for cover, and tried to steady his breathing. If the Hunter was here, it meant he had boarded at the docks, likely posing as a crew member. Jaune's mind raced as he considered his options.
Fighting in the tight quarters of the cargo hold was risky. He didn't know how many weapons the Hunter had, or if he was working alone. His best chance was to slip away and alert the crew—but that would draw attention to himself, and Harwin's earlier warning rang in his ears.
The Hunter moved deeper into the hold, his steps slow and deliberate. Jaune could feel the man's presence like a predator stalking its prey.
Think, Jaune. You've been in tighter spots before.
He glanced around, his eyes landing on a stack of barrels precariously balanced on a wooden pallet. An idea formed in his mind—a risky one, but it was all he had.
Carefully, Jaune shifted to the side, positioning himself near the barrels. He waited until the Hunter was just beneath them, then shoved the pallet with all his strength.
The barrels tumbled down, crashing to the floor in a deafening cacophony.
The Hunter reacted instantly, leaping back and drawing his blade in one fluid motion. But the distraction gave Jaune the opening he needed.
He darted toward the hatch, scrambling up the ladder and onto the deck. The cool night air hit him like a slap, and he didn't stop, sprinting toward the bow of the ship.
Behind him, he heard the sound of boots pounding against the deck. The Hunter was in pursuit.
The sailors shouted in confusion, some drawing their weapons as Jaune and his pursuer tore through the ship.
"Who the hell is that?" Harwin bellowed, his voice cutting through the chaos.
Jaune didn't answer. He reached the edge of the deck and skidded to a halt, his heart hammering in his chest. Below him, the dark water churned, cold and uninviting.
The Hunter slowed his pace, his blade glinting in the moonlight. He said nothing, his expression hidden beneath his hood, but his intent was clear.
Jaune glanced over his shoulder at the water. He had two choices: face the Hunter now, or take his chances with the sea.
With a deep breath, he made his decision.
"See you later," Jaune muttered, before diving over the edge of the ship.
The icy water enveloped him, stealing the air from his lungs. He kicked hard, fighting to stay afloat as the ship loomed above him.
For now, he had escaped again. But Jaune knew this was only the beginning.