Yerim was still shaking by the time her boots hit the deck.
The wind had died, but the chaos still howled in her chest — the echo of fire at her back, the ghost of Inho's eyes on her, the feel of Eunho's arm still wrapped too tightly around her ribs.
She staggered a step forward, breath uneven.
"Try not to faint," came a dry voice ahead.
She looked up.
A figure stood near the helm, one brow arched high, arms crossed over a damp, moss-colored coat. His hair was a soft, rosy pink, dripping from the rain, but his expression was anything but gentle. Sharp violet eyes narrowed at her like she was a problem he hadn't agreed to deal with.
"Seriously?" he said, voice flat. "This is the girl?"
Yerim stiffened instantly.
Before she could say anything, Eunho stepped in beside her, grinning, completely unfazed by the chaos they'd just flown through. "Missed you too, Bamby."
Bamby rolled his eyes. "You're bleeding again."
Eunho glanced down at the shallow scrape along his shoulder. "Adds to the drama."
"Adds to the infection." Bamby turned his gaze back to Yerim. "You gonna puke or are you just gonna stare?"
Yerim blinked, suddenly aware that she was still gripping the edge of the ship's railing, knuckles white. She let go immediately, drawing herself up with whatever dignity she had left.
"I just got thrown off a cruise ship by a psychopath pirate. Forgive me for being disoriented."
Eunho gave a little low whistle. "Already calling me names. She's healing."
Bamby looked between them with an unreadable expression, then muttered, "Figures."
Yerim's jaw tensed. "Figures what?"
"You've got the noble tone." His voice was cool, dismissive. "Entitled. Defensive. Like the rest of them."
"I'm not—!"
"You're from Nam," he cut her off, already turning away. "You don't have to explain. I already know."
Her breath caught in her throat. It wasn't just the words — it was the weight behind them. The disgust. The finality.
"Don't talk like you know me," she snapped, taking a step forward.
Bamby stopped at the helm. Didn't look at her.
"I don't," he said. "And I don't want to."
The silence that followed stretched like ice.
Yerim turned back toward the sea. The cruise ship was a fading silhouette on the horizon now, gilded with lights, a cruel contrast to the storm-washed dark around her.
And there, barely visible, stood Inho. Still watching. Still waiting.
She wasn't free.
Not really.
She had just changed prisons.
And she had no idea what kind of prison this one was.
Behind her, Bamby was already barking orders to adjust sails, muttering curses about "damp idiots with no plan," and Eunho was laughing like he didn't just drag her out of one life and into another.
Yerim exhaled shakily, eyes stinging, but she refused to cry. Not in front of them.
Especially not in front of him.
She gripped the rail again, and beneath her fingers, the wood pulsed faintly — vines woven into the ship's frame like living veins.
A strange magic. Something foreign.
Just like everything else now.
Yerim stood by the railing long after the ship had pulled away from the coast, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.
Her dress clung to her like ice — soaked from rain and wind, heavy from seawater. Her hair stuck to her cheeks, plastered against her neck. Every inch of her was cold.
But that wasn't what had her trembling.
It was everything.
The escape. The fire. Inho's smirk.
And most of all… what Eunho had said.
"Yejun sent him."
She didn't believe it. Couldn't. Yejun would never—
But the doubt had been planted. Buried deep under her ribs.
And now it pulsed like a bruise with every breath.
She stared at the sea, eyes stinging, thoughts crashing into each other like waves in a storm.
No powers. No home. No idea who to trust.
"You're from Nam. You don't have to explain. I already know."
Bamby's voice rang in her ears.
She didn't have anyone here.
Not really.
And just as that horrible, helpless thought finally took root in her chest—
"Hh–CHMPFT!"
She sneezed.
Loud. Sharp. Sudden.
She froze. Her eyes widened in horror.
And from somewhere behind her, there was a beat of silence—
Then:
"Awwww."
Yerim turned, murder already brewing.
Eunho was lounging against the mast with that smirk, arms crossed, eyes sparkling with amusement. "You sneeze like a kitten. I'm gonna cry."
"Don't make me drown you."
"Oh no. Our princess is soggy and grumpy." He tilted his head. "Very tragic."
"She's going to catch something if she keeps dripping all over the deck," Bamby muttered from a few feet away, not even looking up from the bundle of ropes he was adjusting. "And I'm not getting her snot out of the sails."
Yerim was seething. "You kidnapped me and now you're worried about me sneezing?"
Eunho shrugged. "Well, if you die of pneumonia, I'll have to kidnap someone else."
She stared.
He grinned.
"Joking," he added. "Mostly."
She narrowed her eyes. "I want answers."
"And I want dry socks. Life's full of disappointment."
"Eunho—"
He held up a hand. "Alright, alright. Yes, you deserve answers. But first…" He flicked his eyes up and down her dripping form. "You need dry clothes. We can't have our hostage catching a cold."
"Don't call me that."
"What? Hostage? Darling? Sneezy sea princess?"
"I hate you."
Bamby snorted.
Eunho straightened, still smiling. "We don't exactly keep a stock of ballgowns on the Black Siren."
"I noticed."
Yerim stood stiffly between them, arms crossed and still dripping onto the polished wooden deck.
"Alright," Eunho said, squinting between her and Bamby. "Clothes. Let's think practically."
Bamby looked up from tying something unnecessarily aggressive. "Not mine."
"Why not?" Yerim snapped, already irritated.
"You're taller than me," Bamby deadpanned. "And if you stretch out my sweaters, I'll make you regret existing."
Yerim blinked. "I—what?"
"She's not that much taller than you," Eunho murmured, half-grinning.
Bamby raised a brow. "Would you like me to remind you which one of us uses vines?"
"Alright, alright," Eunho waved off, turning to Yerim with a thoughtful squint. "Mine it is. I've got a few old shirts that aren't disasters, and pants you can cuff unless you plan to trip over yourself."
"Can't wait," Yerim muttered.
"Didn't peg you for eager to wear my clothes, princess."
"I will drown you," she said again. She meant it more every time.
Eunho's grin only widened.
He gestured toward the stairs leading to the cabins. "Come on. Let's get you out of the puddle."
They walked in silence through the lower halls of the ship, Yerim trying not to shiver every time a gust of ocean air slipped through the gaps in the wood. The Black Siren was sleek, yes, but it creaked like it had secrets — every board groaning softly underfoot, every lamp flickering like it could go out at any second.
Eunho's quarters were at the end of the hall.
He opened the door with a casual flick of his wrist and waved her in. "Make yourself at home. Ignore the chaos."
It was surprisingly neat.
Books stacked in controlled piles, weapons displayed with intent, papers and maps arranged on a wide desk. The room smelled like cedarwood and spice — faint smoke, salt, and something undeniably him.
He strode to a trunk at the foot of the bed and rummaged inside, tossing a few shirts over his shoulder until he found one he deemed acceptable.
Finally, he turned back to her, holding out a folded bundle: a plain dark shirt — soft and worn-in — and a pair of black trousers that looked like they'd swallow her whole.
"You'll need to cuff those," he said, handing them over.
She took the clothes with narrowed eyes. "No dress code for hostages, I guess?"
"We're casual," he said with a wink. "Just don't steal anything."
"I should warn you," she added coolly, heading toward the attached bathroom, "if you try to peep, I will stab you in the eye with the nearest toothbrush."
Eunho leaned against the wall, arms crossed again. "Which is adorable. But also, you think I need to peep to get a reaction out of you?"
Yerim's ears went pink.
"Go change, princess. I promise your virtue is safe with me."
"Ugh," she muttered, slamming the door behind her.
But she didn't lock it.
And maybe — just maybe — she noticed the shirt smelled a little too much like him. And maybe the fabric was warm, and soft, and the only thing keeping her from full-body shivering.
But she would never admit it.
The clothes were… big.
The sleeves dangled past her hands. The pants were cuffed four times, and still dragged a little. The shirt? Warm. Soft. Smelled maddeningly like firewood and citrus and him.
Yerim glared at her reflection in the mirror.
"You're not cute. You're kidnapped," she whispered to herself. "Get a grip."
She opened the bathroom door.
The cabin was dim, lit only by a swaying lantern above the desk. Eunho was seated at the edge of the bed, rolling the stiffness out of his shoulder, a bandage now visible across the scrape from earlier. His coat was gone, shirt half-unbuttoned, sleeves rolled — and for a moment, he looked real. Tired. Quiet. Less pirate and more person.
He looked up. His eyes flicked over her — from cuffed sleeves to sockless ankles — and his smirk was instant.
"Wow," he said. "You make my shirt look adorable."
"Say that again and I'll throw myself off this ship."
"Wouldn't recommend it. It's a long swim."
Yerim ignored the heat crawling up her neck and sat on the bench by the desk, folding her arms. "You promised answers."
Eunho exhaled slowly. "I did."
"Then talk."
She expected deflection. Sarcasm. Another cheeky nickname.
Instead, his expression shifted — not serious, but… careful.
"Your powers," he said. "Or rather, the absence of them."
Her throat tightened.
"Everyone thinks they haven't awakened," he continued. "But that's not entirely true, is it?"
She frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"I think they have," he said, calmly. "Or at least, the potential has. You're not empty, Yerim. You're locked."
"Locked?" she echoed, voice quiet.
"Like someone pressed pause. Or shoved your power so deep inside, it forgot how to rise."
Silence.
Yerim gripped her sleeves.
"You really think that?"
"I wouldn't have gone through all this trouble if I didn't."
She studied him for a long moment. His face was unreadable — sharp angles, fire-lit eyes, and something still coiled under the surface.
"And you're just doing all this out of the goodness of your heart?" she said finally.
There it was — the flicker of that grin.
"No," he said. "I have plans. Big ones. And you? You're part of them."
"And if I refuse?"
"You won't."
Her brows lifted.
"Because," he said, leaning forward, voice low and unflinching, "I think you already know. Deep down. That if your family finds out what's really inside you — what it's connected to — they'll tear you apart to extract it."
She stiffened.
"Or they'll kill you before you even get the chance."
The cabin fell still.
The ship rocked gently beneath them, and Yerim's heart felt like it was fighting to stay afloat.
She wanted to argue. Wanted to deny it.
But the truth was…
She'd always wondered why it felt like something inside her was waiting.
Yerim's breath caught.
Not at the words — but at the quiet certainty in them.
Like Eunho wasn't just guessing.
Like he knew.
And that terrified her.
Her fingers curled around the fabric of her borrowed sleeves, tension winding its way up her spine.
"You don't know anything about my family," she said.
Eunho didn't flinch. "I know enough."
"Then you know they wouldn't hurt me. My brother—"
"Your brother's not the whole family."
"He's part of it," she snapped, suddenly on her feet, the chair scraping behind her. "He raised me. Protected me. He would never let that happen."
"And yet Inho knew where you'd be."
Her lips parted. The words stalled in her throat.
"Coincidence?" he asked, tilting his head. "Bad luck?"
Yerim swallowed, hard.
"You're twisting everything," she said, voice tight. "You're just trying to make me doubt them. You're good at that — picking at people until they fall apart."
Eunho stood slowly.
He didn't look angry. He looked like someone trying very hard not to be.
"Believe me, Yerim," he said, voice quiet, "I'd love for your brother to be the exception. I'd love for someone in that circle of monsters to give a damn."
"He does," she hissed.
"Then where was he?"
The question dropped like a stone in the center of her chest.
"Where was he when they gave up on you?"
"When they called you broken?"
"When they whispered you'd never pass the test?"
"I never told anyone that," she whispered.
Eunho's gaze didn't soften. "You didn't have to."
For a long, brittle moment, the two of them just stood there — him, fire-scarred and furious; her, drenched in confusion, too many truths rattling around her ribs.
Then she looked away.
"I'm not going to betray them," she muttered. "Not just because you tell me to."
"I'm not asking for loyalty," he said. "I'm asking for awareness. There's a difference."
Yerim turned toward the door, every step heavier than the last.
Before she opened it, she paused.
"You say I'm part of your plans," she said, not looking back. "But I'm not yours to use."
Eunho's voice came low behind her.
"No. You're not."
There was no teasing in it. No smugness.
Just something else.
Something that almost sounded like regret.
Yerim didn't expect him to say that.
Not without a grin. Not laced with sarcasm.
Just… "You're not."
And the calm finality of it knocked the breath right out of her.
She stood frozen by the door, fingers still curled around the handle, her back half-turned. For the first time since she'd met him, Eunho didn't feel like a storm waiting to strike.
He felt… still.
And somehow that was worse.
She forced her voice out. "You're wrong."
"About?"
"I don't have any powers."
She heard the rustle of him moving — not forward, not closer — just shifting.
"Not having them and not accessing them aren't the same thing."
"I would know if I had them."
"No," he said simply. "You wouldn't."
She turned around, exasperated. "Why are you so sure?"
"Because," he said, stepping toward the map-covered desk, "you're still alive."
She blinked. "What—?"
"If the Nam family really thought you had nothing, they wouldn't have kept you this long. You'd have been removed before your debut." His voice was neutral, clinical. "They kept you because something in you reads as possible. They just don't know what."
Her stomach twisted.
She wanted to argue. But it explained so much. The hush behind closed doors. The change in her tutor's tone. The sudden intensity of her training despite her "failure."
Still.
"That doesn't mean I have anything, Eunho," she said. "You're not from Nam. You don't understand how it works."
"No," he said, looking at her fully now. "But I do know what it's like to have something forced shut inside you. Something the families didn't want you to have control over."
That stopped her cold.
His expression didn't shift. But something flickered behind his eyes — a shadow of a memory he wasn't ready to say aloud.
Yerim bit her lip.
"And even if you're right," she muttered, "that doesn't mean I can do anything about it."
"You won't be doing it alone."
Her eyes narrowed. "You're going to train me?"
Eunho laughed. A real one, deep and low.
"Gods, no. I don't have the patience. You'd throw me overboard within a week."
"Then who?"
The answer came from the doorway.
"Unfortunately," Bamby drawled, leaning against the frame, "that'd be me."
Yerim whipped around, startled.
He looked about as thrilled as she felt — arms crossed, face set, pink hair still damp from earlier. He was not smiling.
"Don't look so excited," he said flatly. "I'm already regretting this."
"You?" she said, skeptical. "Why you?"
Eunho answered for him. "Because if anyone knows how to coax out what's buried, it's Bamby."
Bamby's gaze flicked to her — assessing, guarded.
"You're a mess," he said bluntly. "Emotionally, mentally, magically. But I've seen worse."
"Such faith," she muttered.
"I'm not doing it for you."
She frowned. "Then why—?"
"I'm doing it," he said coolly, "because the faster we figure out what's inside you, the faster we can decide if you're a threat to us — or an asset."
That hit. Sharp and cold.
But Yerim only straightened her back.
"Fine," she said. "Train me."
Bamby raised a brow. "You're not going to cry about it?"
"I already cried," she said, voice flat.
Eunho smiled faintly from behind them.
"Good," Bamby muttered. "We start tomorrow."
Yerim stood frozen in the middle of the cabin.
The lantern burned low now, casting a dim amber glow across the space — just enough to make out the edges of the desk, the shelves, the mess of maps and notes… and the single, very obvious bed.
Behind her, Eunho yawned.
"Alright," he said, stretching like this was a normal night and not… whatever this was. "I'm calling it. Bamby's got your training tomorrow and I'm not dealing with that cranky goblin without sleep."
She didn't move.
"…Where am I supposed to sleep?" she asked tightly.
Eunho raised a brow. "You're looking at it."
Her stomach sank. "No."
He blinked. "Yes?"
"No," she repeated. "You don't actually expect me to sleep here. With you."
"There's nowhere else," he said, shrugging like this was simply fact. "Bamby's room is smaller than a coffin, and the rest of the cabins are gutted out for storage."
"I'll sleep on the floor."
"It's freezing. And we're mid-sea. You'll catch a chill in those clothes."
"Then I'll take my chances."
"Yerim," he said, voice finally steadying, tone just a notch quieter. "You can take the bed. I'll stay on top of the blankets. Other side. You can have the wall. I don't bite."
She crossed her arms. "I don't trust you."
"I know."
That answer hit harder than she expected. He wasn't teasing. Not this time.
There was a long pause.
From down the hall, Bamby's voice carried faintly: "If you two don't shut up, I'm rigging a hammock and throwing you both into it."
Yerim scowled. "Unbelievable."
"I can sleep in the chair if it makes you feel better," Eunho added, already moving toward his desk. "I've done worse. But it won't change the situation."
She stood there, frozen in indecision.
She was still wearing his shirt. Still cuffed into his pants. Still cold, still tired, still turning over everything he said about her powers, her family, Yejun.
She hated that her body ached for rest. Hated that the bed looked warm.
Hated that he wasn't wrong.
"…Fine," she muttered. "But stay on your side."
"Obviously."
She hesitated one last time, then carefully, wordlessly, climbed into the bed — stiff and guarded, turned to the wall, every muscle tense.
Eunho said nothing more.
He just blew out the lantern, let the darkness settle, and eventually, the room was quiet.
But Yerim didn't sleep.
Not yet.
The room was dark. The kind of dark that feels heavy.
The Black Siren creaked softly around them — wood groaning with each slow rock of the sea. Somewhere above, the wind whistled through the rigging. The kind of stillness that made the silence louder.
Yerim lay with her back to the room, curled close to the wall. Her eyes were open.
She hadn't slept.
Not really.
Every time she drifted, Inho's smirk, Eunho's words, Yejun's name — they all came rushing back like waves crashing against her skull.
She squeezed her eyes shut tighter.
Just breathe.
She hated the cold.
She hated how much her chest ached.
She hated the way this ship groaned like it had secrets, the way everything here felt like it was holding its breath.
And worst of all?
She hated that Eunho was breathing so evenly behind her.
Like he could sleep. Like he wasn't the reason she was here. Like her world hadn't collapsed in his hands.
She shifted under the blanket, trying not to make noise.
Too late.
"You're awake."
His voice cut through the dark like a knife.
She stiffened. "So are you."
A pause.
"Couldn't sleep," he said. "You fidget a lot."
"Sorry I'm not a gracious guest."
The silence that followed was heavier than before.
"…It's not exactly my dream scenario either," Eunho said eventually.
Yerim turned, just enough to glance at him over her shoulder.
He was lying on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, eyes open and staring at the ceiling. No grin. No sarcasm.
Just quiet.
"You got what you wanted," she said. "I'm here."
His gaze shifted toward her, but only for a moment.
"I didn't want this."
"Didn't you?" she said sharply. "You kidnapped me. Lied. Threatened me. Dragged me onto your ship. What exactly did you want?"
Another pause.
"I wanted a chance," he said. "To stop something before it starts. To change what's coming."
"You don't even know me," Yerim muttered.
"No," he agreed. "But I know what they do to people like you."
That sat between them like ash.
Yerim turned back to the wall, heart pounding harder now.
She hated that he sounded like he meant it.
She hated that she didn't know if that made it better or worse.
"…You should sleep," he said, quieter now.
She didn't answer.
But eventually, she let her eyes drift shut.
Yerim was warm.
Too warm.
She shifted beneath the blanket, cheek pressed into something soft and—
"Rise and shine, sleeping sea sprite."
Her eyes snapped open.
Eunho's face hovered far too close above her, upside down from where he leaned over the bed, hair falling around his face, a stupid grin tugging at his lips.
"Get away from me," she hissed, shoving at him.
He laughed, easily dodging the half-hearted slap as he straightened. "You're welcome. I could've dumped seawater on you. Bamby said that's how he used to wake up his siblings."
"I'm going to drown you."
"Not before breakfast."
She sat up with a groan, hair a mess, sleeves still too long, eyes full of sleep and regret.
Eunho was already halfway to the door. "There's soap and a basin in the next room. Towels too. And food waiting up top."
"Food?"
"Unless Bamby burned it again."
Yerim emerged onto the deck twenty minutes later, fresh-faced but still wrapped in the oversized shirt and a healthy layer of distrust. The scent hit her first — something sizzling, something sweet?
She blinked.
Bamby, pink hair pulled into a low messy bun, was standing over a makeshift stove near the bow of the ship, cooking.
Cooking.
He didn't look up. "You look less awful."
Yerim blinked again. "You cook?"
"I also breathe. Shocking, I know."
Eunho was already sitting cross-legged on a crate nearby, half-eaten plate in hand. "Don't let him fool you. He's actually terrifyingly good at it."
Bamby tossed a piece of roasted root onto a wooden plate and handed it toward her with a flick of his wrist. "Here. Eat. Or don't. Just don't whine about it later."
Yerim hesitated, staring at the food like it might bite her.
"It's not poisoned," Bamby said flatly.
"That's exactly what someone who did poison it would say."
He blinked. "You're exhausting."
"You're mean."
"And you're overly attached to starving out of spite."
Eunho whistled. "Wow. Love the bonding happening here."
Yerim shot him a look, then slowly took the plate, sitting down as far from both of them as the deck allowed. She sniffed it again. Bamby watched her like he was the suspicious one.
She finally took a bite.
...It was good.
Unfortunately.
They didn't drag it out.
The moment breakfast ended, Bamby clapped once and announced, "We start now."
Yerim, still chewing, blinked. "Start what?"
"Unclogging whatever tragic mess your magic is trapped in," he said. "Try not to explode."
Eunho just gave her a thumbs-up and went to sprawl in a hammock nearby like this was his job for the day.
They moved to a quieter part of the ship, vines already curling lazily across the deck from where Bamby summoned them.
"Sit," he instructed.
She did — reluctantly.
"What do you want me to do?"
"Nothing. Breathe. Focus. And don't talk."
Her nose wrinkled, but she obeyed.
Bamby stepped back and began circling, murmuring something under his breath. The vines around them shifted, spiraling slowly into patterns across the wood. Magic buzzed in the air — faint, earthy, oddly alive.
Yerim closed her eyes.
She listened to the ocean. Tried to center herself. Tried to find… anything.
A spark.
A flicker.
A whisper.
…
Nothing.
Her shoulders stiffened. She tried harder. Focused on everything — her breath, the way her chest rose, the place behind her eyes where she thought magic might live—
Still nothing.
Not even a shiver of warmth.
Eventually, Bamby clicked his tongue.
"Alright," he said. "That's enough."
Her eyes flew open. "What? That's it?"
"You didn't expect fireworks on day one, did you?"
"No, but—" she paused, cheeks hot. "Shouldn't I feel something?"
Bamby looked at her evenly.
"Some things take time," he said. "And some things take breaking. We'll find out which one you are."
He turned and walked off without waiting for a response.
Yerim sat alone on the deck, heart heavy, mouth dry.
No spark.
No flicker.
Just a silent sea, and too many things left unsaid.
Y erim sat exactly where Bamby had left her — legs crossed on the deck, hands curled into fists on her knees, jaw tight.
The vines were gone. The hum of magic had faded.
And there was still nothing inside her but silence.
No power. No flicker. No awakening.
Just… her.
Alone in someone else's clothes on someone else's ship, with someone else telling her she was broken.
Footsteps approached again.
She didn't look up. "What do you want now?"
Bamby stopped a few feet from her. Arms crossed. Tone flat.
"You sulking?"
Yerim's head whipped toward him. "Excuse me?"
"I said: are you sulking?"
She pushed herself to her feet, eyes narrowing. "I am not sulking."
"You're sitting on the floor and glaring at the ocean."
"I'm processing."
He blinked. "Right. Processing how very not magical you are?"
Yerim inhaled sharply, color rising to her cheeks. "You know what? Screw you."
"Charming."
"You act like I want this," she snapped, taking a step closer. "Like I asked to be dragged out of my home and dropped onto this ridiculous ship with you and your overgrown weeds."
His violet eyes sharpened. "You think I wanted to train some sheltered water brat who flinches every time someone talks about her precious family?"
She glared. "You don't know anything about me."
"I know you're clinging to a version of them that doesn't exist."
"Don't."
"You want to believe they'll protect you?" he pressed, not cruel, but unflinching. "Where were they when they thought you were powerless? When they left you to flounder, alone, under that awful tutor? When they started preparing your funeral before your debut?"
"Shut up," she hissed. "You don't understand—"
"I understand perfectly, Yerim. I'm from a noble house too, remember?"
She faltered.
He went on, quieter now. "You think the Chae family gave a damn about me when they thought I was useless? My parents planned to sell me off for political favor. Because I wasn't worth keeping."
Yerim's stomach twisted.
"They buried me before I bloomed," Bamby said. "You? You're still fighting it. That's more than most."
Yerim looked down at her hands.
"They lied to me," she whispered. "For years."
He nodded, curt. "They do that."
"And now you want me to believe you're the one I should trust?"
"No," Bamby said. "I don't care if you trust me."
She blinked.
"I'm not here to be your friend," he said. "I'm here to get your power out. Whatever it takes."
Yerim swallowed hard.
"And if there's nothing to get out?" she asked, quiet.
Bamby looked at her for a long, long moment.
Then, with the smallest shrug: "Then I'll stop wasting my time."
The words hit like a slap. But there was no venom in them.
Just truth.
He turned, walking away again. But before he stepped out of earshot—
"Breakfast again tomorrow," he muttered. "Eat it this time without acting like it's a crime."
Then he was gone.
Yerim stood alone, heart pounding, throat tight.
For once, she didn't have a comeback.
The deck had quieted again.
Bamby was gone, the scent of magic faded from the air, and Eunho was nowhere to be seen — probably off being annoyingly charming to a rope or a cannonball.
Yerim sat back down, folding her legs beneath her, arms wrapped around her knees as the ship rocked gently beneath her.
She hated this ship.
She hated the sea.
She hated how empty she felt.
But worst of all — she hated the thoughts creeping in when no one was there to stop them.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
You're still fighting it.
Bamby's words echoed, sharp and unkind and true.
She wanted to defend them. The Nam family. Her name.
But the words wouldn't come.
Because the older she got, the harder it became to explain the cold stares at dinners, the way her mother's praise only came in measured doses, never too warm, always precise — like she was something to be calibrated, not cherished.
The way they said her name when they thought she wasn't listening.
"Still no powers?"
"A pity, really. It was such a strong bloodline."
"A shame she takes after her mother's side."
They didn't think she heard.
But she always did.
She used to tell herself they were just worried. That they wanted her to do well.
She used to cling to every half-compliment, every passing glance of approval like it was treasure.
Because if she let herself believe otherwise — that they never loved her at all — she didn't know what that would make her.
So she told herself stories.
She told herself they were good.
That they cared.
That her failures were her fault, not the reflection of a system that only valued her for what she could do.
Her throat tightened.
"You're not empty, Yerim. You're locked."
And if Eunho was right — if her power had been buried deep, sealed away…
Would they have killed her for not unlocking it in time?
Would they have let her walk into that test knowing it would be the end of her?
The answer terrified her.
But not as much as the growing truth whispering louder and louder in her chest.
They might have.
All of them.
Except—
Yejun.
Yerim's breath hitched.
She clung to that name like it was the last piece of herself she trusted.
He was the only one who looked at her like she mattered even when she failed. The only one who smiled without calculation. Who held her when she cried and never asked for her to be more than she was.
And yet—
Even his silence that night… when Inho found her…
Her hands gripped her sleeves tightly.
He wouldn't.
She had to believe that.
Even if everything else was falling apart.
The Nam estate was quieter than usual.
Unnaturally so.
Yejun stood in the private wing's observatory, arms folded behind his back, staring out over the courtyard. The sky above Asterum was overcast — heavy with clouds, the kind that threatened rain but never delivered.
Just like the voices in the council chamber.
All threat. No substance.
It had been four days since Yerim disappeared.
Four days of silence.
Four days of vague reports, false leads, and too-polite murmurs from the other households.
And yet, no one moved.
No one acted.
Not without proof, they said. Not without protocol.
But Yejun didn't need protocol to know something was wrong.
She wouldn't have left.
Not without telling me.
He squeezed his fists tighter behind his back, the muscles in his shoulders rigid.
"You're doing it again."
Yejun didn't turn. "Doing what?"
"Standing like you're about to challenge the storm to a duel."
Noah entered the room with his usual easy grace — hands tucked into his coat pockets, blonde hair loosely tied back, blue eyes sharp and just a bit too knowing.
Yejun exhaled, jaw tense. "It's not a storm I'm worried about."
"I know," Noah said, quieter now. "It's her."
He moved to Yejun's side, leaning a shoulder casually against the pillar, gaze drifting out toward the empty walkways below.
"She's tough," he added. "Your sister."
"She's untrained," Yejun snapped. "And alone. And someone took her from our home, Noah. That's not just a security failure — it's a message."
Noah tilted his head. "From who?"
Yejun didn't answer.
Not because he didn't have a theory.
But because saying it aloud made it real.
"Do you think it's him?" Noah asked eventually.
Yejun's throat tightened.
The name wasn't said. It didn't need to be.
Eunho.
The fallen prodigy. The disgraced heir. The pirate with fire in his blood and vengeance in his veins.
"It doesn't make sense," Yejun muttered. "Why her?"
Noah didn't answer right away.
Then, softly: "Because she's the only one who still believes the families are worth saving."
Yejun turned to him sharply. "Don't."
Noah met his gaze without flinching. "You know I'm right."
"She's not a pawn," Yejun said, voice steel.
"She wasn't," Noah said. "But someone's trying to make her into one. Whether it's him — or the people in this house."
The words lingered like poison in the air.
Neither of them said anything for a moment.
Then Noah added, gently: "You should tell her the truth, Yejun. Before someone else does."
Yejun's eyes dropped to the ring on his finger — the Nam seal. Heavy. Beautiful. Cold.
"I can't," he said.
And maybe that was the most honest thing he'd said in weeks.
Yerim had only meant to get water.
She'd been pacing the hall outside the galley, barefoot, trying to calm the simmer still left in her chest from training — the ache of failure, the echo of Bamby's words.
The door to the map room was cracked open.
She hadn't meant to stop.
But then she heard her name.
So she paused. Just for a second.
Then a minute passed.
Then two.
And Yerim found herself frozen outside the door, heart in her throat, staring at the shadows dancing through the slit in the wood.
Inside, Eunho's voice rumbled low — not teasing this time, but sharp and focused.
"We need to restock before we go after him."
Bamby. "We've got enough rations for another two days."
"Not for where he's hiding. The Yu kid's smart. He knows how to disappear — and if he caught wind we're coming, he's already halfway into the shadows."
"So the island," Bamby said flatly.
Eunho hummed. "We'll make it a short stop. Fuel, food, maybe some news if we're lucky. Then straight for the mainland coast."
A pause.
"And Yerim?" Bamby asked.
Another beat of silence.
"She stays with us," Eunho said. "Until we know what's inside her — she's not safe anywhere else."
Yerim's breath hitched — loud to her ears, even if it was barely audible.
And somehow, as if he heard it too—
"You can come in now, Yerim."
She froze.
Dead. Absolutely dead.
Inside the room, Bamby let out a long-suffering sigh. "Gods, she's been there how long?"
Eunho was already smirking, leaning back in his chair. "Long enough to make it awkward."
Yerim shoved the door open like she meant to all along, spine stiff, arms crossed tight over her chest.
"I wasn't eavesdropping."
"You were literally doing the definition of eavesdropping," Bamby said.
"I was just passing by!"
"For fifteen minutes?" Eunho asked.
Her face flushed. "I didn't know when to walk in!"
"You mean after you heard us mention your name and decided not to interrupt? Real subtle."
"I hate you."
Eunho grinned, looking delighted. "You'll miss me when I'm gone."
"I'll celebrate."
Bamby didn't even look up. "Do it somewhere else. You're giving me indigestion."
Yerim rolled her eyes and stomped over to the table, pretending she wasn't about to boil alive with embarrassment.
Eunho slid a cup of water toward her, unbothered.
"We'll be making a quick stop on an island before we head to the coast," he said, tone back to normal. "Fuel, food, maybe some answers."
Yerim took the cup. Didn't meet his eyes.
"Why are we going after the Yu heir anyway?" she muttered. "Is he going to be kidnapped too?"
Eunho leaned forward, smile gone now. "He's not like you. He's already on the run. He just doesn't know yet that he's safer with us."
Yerim frowned.
But the question that rose in her throat never made it out.
Because deep down, she wasn't sure who was safer anymore.
Yerim narrowed her eyes. "So… what, are we kidnapping him too?"
Eunho didn't even blink. "If that's what it takes."
There was a long beat of silence.
Then Yerim slowly turned to look at Bamby.
"Is kidnapping people your solution to everything?"
Bamby, without missing a beat:
"Obviously. That's how you make friends in pirate school."
Yerim deadpanned, "So I'm just the first in a growing collection."
"Congratulations," Bamby said. "Soon you'll have a kidnappee buddy. That's practically a social circle."
Eunho held up a hand. "Okay, for the record, you let me in your house."
"I didn't know you were a criminal!"
"You bandaged me!"
"I thought you were dying!"
"You did a great job, by the way."
She glared at him. "I should've let you bleed out."
Bamby, kicking his boots up on the crate, added casually, "You say that now, but give it a few days — you'll miss his charming bedside manner."
Yerim buried her face in her hands.
This was her life now.
On a ship with a smug firestarter, a passive-aggressive forest witch, and an itinerary that included shopping for fuel and collecting fugitives.
If she lived through this, she was writing a book.
The ship rocked gently as they drifted closer to the island's coast.
Eunho had sent Bamby above deck to double-check their docking route, which meant Yerim had been voluntold to help grab supplies from the lower storage hold — ropes, flares, extra bags.
She muttered under her breath as she shoved open the narrow hatch door and stepped inside the cramped storeroom. It was warm, smelled like wood and salt, and there were more crates than air.
She spotted what she needed immediately — a canvas satchel perched high on a shelf, just out of reach.
Of course.
She reached for it anyway, fingers stretching.
Then—
"Careful, princess."
Yerim jerked.
Eunho was suddenly there behind her, tall and infuriatingly close, one hand already reaching past her to grab the bag with ease.
Her breath caught — not at the bag, but at how close his voice had come to her ear. She stepped back on instinct but—
Too late.
The space was too narrow. Her back hit a wall of crates, and Eunho's arm braced against the shelf beside her head, bag in hand, body far too close.
He didn't touch her.
But he didn't need to.
He was all heat and proximity and amusement.
Yerim scowled up at him. "Move."
"Say please."
"I'll set you on fire."
He grinned. "Wrong element."
"Fine," she snapped. "I'll drown you."
"Getting warmer," he said, tilting his head. "But you'll have to unlock your powers first."
Her glare darkened. "I hate you."
Eunho's smile didn't waver. But his eyes, crimson in the dim light, flicked over her face with a quiet intensity that made her throat tighten.
"You keep saying that," he said softly. "But I don't think it's hate that makes you look at me like that."
"Like what?"
He didn't answer.
Didn't have to.
Her face flushed hot — and she hated him even more for it.
She shoved at his chest. He let her.
"Out of my way, pirate."
"Anything for you, princess."
And with that, he stepped back, tossing her the bag.
She caught it with both hands, jaw clenched.
He was already halfway out the door when she muttered, "Your flirting doesn't work on me."
He didn't turn around.
But she heard the smirk in his voice as he said,
"Didn't say it had to."