The Sirens Call

The silence that followed Thorne’s question was deafening. The tavern around them still buzzed with drunken chatter, with the clink of glasses and the occasional bark of laughter, but in that moment, Cassian heard nothing but the blood pounding in his ears.

He should have said no. Every instinct screamed at him to say no. Thorne was hiding something—Cassian knew it as surely as he knew the tides would rise with the moon. But Matthias was out there, and Thorne was the only person who had seen him, the only one who might know how to bring him back.

Cassian exhaled slowly, forcing himself to meet Thorne’s gaze. "If we do this, there are no more lies. No more secrets."

Thorne studied him for a long moment. Then, with a slow nod, he said, "Agreed."

Cassian wasn’t fool enough to believe it. He would watch Thorne closely, take what he could from him, and if the bastard tried to turn on him, he’d be ready. But for now, he had no choice.

He extended his hand. "Then we have a deal."

Thorne clasped his wrist, firm and steady. "A deal."

The weight of it settled between them, something unspoken yet undeniable.

Later, when the moon hung high and the sea stretched dark and endless beyond the docks, Cassian followed Thorne through the narrow alleyways of the port. The scent of salt and damp wood thickened the air, and the lanterns lining the docks flickered against the night breeze.

He still didn’t know where they were going. Or rather, he had a sinking suspicion, but he wasn’t sure he wanted it confirmed just yet.

It wasn’t until they emerged onto the main pier that Cassian saw it.

A ship, dark-hulled and sleek, its sails furled, its figurehead carved in the shape of a twisting serpent. The Red Wind.

Cassian felt his stomach drop.

He stopped short, turning to Thorne. "Tell me that’s not your ship."

Thorne’s smirk was slow, almost amused. "Did I forget to mention that?"

Cassian swore under his breath. He had known Thorne was dangerous, but he hadn’t expected this. The Red Wind was infamous, spoken of in hushed voices, a ship that seemed to appear and vanish like a ghost on the tide.

"You’re the captain of the Red Wind," Cassian said flatly.

"That would be me."

Cassian exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. "Of course you are."

Before he could question his life choices any further, footsteps thudded on the gangplank, and a handful of figures emerged from the deck. The crew. Their voices overlapped as they descended, a mix of languages and accents, laughter and sharp commands. They were an eclectic bunch—scarred, sharp-eyed, and watching Cassian with interest.

A woman with dark, braided hair and a tattoo curling along her jaw raised a brow. "This the stray you picked up, Thorne?"

"He’s not a stray," Thorne said dryly. "He’s temporary."

Cassian crossed his arms. "Charming."

A broad-shouldered man with dark brown skin and a gold hoop in his ear chuckled. "He’s got bite. I like him."

Another, younger and wiry, rolled his eyes. "You like anyone who mouths off."

The crew exchanged glances, assessing. Cassian squared his shoulders, refusing to let them see even a flicker of hesitation.

Thorne clapped a hand on his shoulder, steering him toward the gangplank. "Come on, Cassian. Time to meet the family."

The Red Wind was more than a ship. Cassian could feel it the moment his boots met the deck. It thrummed beneath him, the wood creaking as though exhaling at his presence. He had sailed on many vessels, but none had felt quite like this—alive, aware, as if listening. As if it knew who walked upon it.

A memory flared—faint, but present. Other ships he had sailed on, their decks unyielding underfoot, their structures predictable. But this? This felt different. Almost sentient.

The crew moved with a practiced ease, ropes coiling like serpents in their hands, their steps light but deliberate. There was laughter and jest, but beneath it, a quiet reverence. Every man and woman aboard The Red Wind held it in a strange, unspoken regard—as if Thorne wasn’t just its captain, but its keeper.

A man with silver-streaked hair and sharp eyes fell into step beside Cassian. He was older than most of the others, his sun-worn skin marked by years at sea. "You feel it, don’t you?"

Cassian frowned. "Feel what?"

"The way she breathes. The way she listens. The Red Wind is no ordinary ship. She’s got her own mind." He grinned, flashing gold teeth. "Best you not cross her, lad."

Cassian scoffed. "It’s a ship. Ships don’t think."

The man laughed. "You keep telling yourself that. The rest of us? We know better."

Cassian opened his mouth to argue, but a gust of wind ruffled the sails above them, the wood beneath his feet shifting ever so slightly—almost like a response. He shut his mouth.

Another voice cut in, this one smoother, more amused. "Let him figure it out on his own, Bram."

Cassian turned to find the woman from earlier—the one with the tattoo along her jaw. She was watching him with sharp eyes, her arms crossed.

"Cassian, was it?" she asked.

"That’s right."

"I’m Saoirse." She jerked her chin toward the older sailor. "That’s Bram. And that one—" she motioned to the broad-shouldered man who had chuckled at Cassian earlier "—is Elias."

Elias grinned. "Still got bite, stranger?"

Cassian rolled his eyes. "We’ll see."

Saoirse smirked. "You’ll get used to us. But don’t cross the captain. And don’t ignore the ship."

Cassian glanced back at Thorne, who was speaking with another crew member near the helm, his posture easy yet commanding. The crew respected him—not just as their leader, but as someone they trusted with something greater.

A sudden gust of wind sent a shiver down Cassian’s spine, and the deck beneath him groaned. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but he could have sworn the Red Wind was watching him