Guilt Follows

Darkness swelled. It pressed in from every side, thick as oil, choking the air from Cassian’s lungs. He couldn’t see, couldn’t move.

Then—water.

Cold as death, surging up his legs, wrapping around his ribs like an iron grip. He gasped, but his breath came back as salt and brine. The taste of drowning.

Something brushed against his ankle.

No, someone.

Cassian’s pulse roared in his ears as he twisted, the weight of the water making every movement sluggish, wrong. Shapes loomed in the deep, shifting, watching. He knew them. He knew—

A hand shot out of the darkness, fingers locking around his wrist.

Matthias.

His brother's face was pale, his lips parted as if gasping for air that would never come. His eyes—Cassian had never seen them like that. Hollow. Betrayed.

"You left me."

Cassian tried to speak, to deny it, but no sound left his throat. Only the thick, suffocating silence of the sea.

Matthias’ grip tightened, nails digging into Cassian’s skin, pulling him down, deeper and deeper into the black. His mouth moved, forming words Cassian couldn’t hear, couldn’t understand—

No, he did understand.

"You left me, and now it has me."

Something moved behind Matthias. A shape vast and unknowable, its presence alone a weight in Cassian’s chest. He felt its hunger, its amusement.

And then Matthias smiled.

A terrible, wrong thing. A smile that wasn’t his.

Cassian screamed.

The water flooded into his lungs, and the world shattered.

Cassian jolted awake, a sharp gasp tearing from his throat. His body lurched forward before he could stop it, his palms pressing against the wooden boards of the ship. His breath was ragged, his chest heaving. The room spun around him, sweat slicking the back of his neck.

It took him a second to remember where he was.

The crew’s quarters, tucked beneath the deck. The Red Wind creaked around him, the sound of waves lapping against the hull. Someone snored in the corner. A hammock swayed, empty. The air was thick with the scent of salt, unwashed clothes, and damp wood.

Cassian exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. His fingers were trembling.

"You left me."

The words clung to him like damp cloth.

He had never been able to shake that fear—not truly. He had told himself, over and over again, that Matthias understood, that Matthias would always understand.

But what if he didn’t?

What if Cassian had abandoned him to something worse than death?

His stomach twisted.

And then there was Thorne’s voice, echoing back at him from the night before:

"Because knowledge isn’t just dangerous, Cassian. It’s contagious."

Cassian swallowed hard. He needed to know.

He wasn’t getting anything out of Thorne—not yet. But there were other ways to get what he wanted.

And he knew exactly where to start.

The midday sun glared against the deck, making every surface shimmer with heat. Cassian rolled his shoulders as he moved, weaving through the bustling crew. A storm brewed on the horizon—not of rain, but of tension. He could feel it in the air, in the way conversations hushed when he passed.

Thorne had made sure no one trusted him.

That was fine. Cassian didn’t need trust. He needed leverage.

He found Nina by the barrels, sleeves rolled up, wrist-deep in seawater as she scrubbed the filth from a bundle of linen. She was humming under her breath—something soft, absentminded.

Cassian leaned against the nearest crate, casual. Interested.

"That’s a lot of effort for someone who lives among thieves," he mused. "Didn’t think cleanliness was a pirate’s top priority."

Nina snorted. "Says the duque."

He smirked at the nickname. He had heard the crew whisper it—half-mocking, half-suspicious.

"Touché," he admitted.

Nina wrung out the cloth, flicking a glance his way. "What do you want, Cassian?"

Right to the point.

He liked that.

Cassian exhaled, tilting his head as if considering. "Conversation. Entertainment. Something other than the lovely silence of being ignored by half the ship."

She arched a brow. "You must be really desperate if I’m your best option."

He grinned. "Maybe I just have excellent taste."

A laugh escaped her, quick and sharp. But she didn’t stop working, fingers deft as she untangled a particularly stubborn knot of rope.

Cassian let a pause stretch between them, calculated, then—

"I imagine Thorne’s been poring over that map of his," he mused, watching her from the corner of his eye. "Must be something special."

A blind guess. A shot in the dark.

Nina didn’t look up. But the way her hands hesitated, just for a fraction of a second, told Cassian everything he needed to know.

Nina didn’t look up. "Aye. Special enough for him to keep his mouth shut about it."

Bingo.

Cassian made a thoughtful noise, playing at indifference. "Strange, though. I saw it last night—just for a moment. Looked like a mess of ink to me." He glanced at her, feigning curiosity. "You think he’s actually got it figured out?"

Nina hesitated. Barely. A flicker of something crossed her face—uncertainty, or perhaps something else.

"Not yet," she admitted. "But he will."

Cassian let that settle, filing it away.

"And when he does?" he asked, voice light. "What’s he planning?"

That was the wrong question.

Nina’s gaze snapped to him, sharp as a blade. "Why do you care?"

Cassian smiled, all easy charm. "Just a curious man in a curious place."

She didn’t smile back.

Before he could press further, a voice cut through the air.

"What the hell are you two whispering about?"

Cassian turned just in time to see Saoirse approaching, eyes narrowed.

Ah. Perfect timing.

Saoirse’s gaze flicked between them, suspicion written across every inch of her face. "If you’re trying to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, duque, I suggest you rethink that decision."

Cassian raised his hands, all mock innocence. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

Saoirse didn’t look convinced. She turned to Nina. "You done here?"

Nina wiped her hands on her trousers. "Aye."

Saoirse jerked her chin towards the rigging. "Then get moving. We’ve got work to do."

Cassian watched them go, exhaling slowly.

He had learned something important today.

Thorne didn’t have the map deciphered.

Not yet.

But when he did—Cassian would already be ten steps ahead.

Because if there was one thing he had always been good at, it was taking what he needed before anyone realised it was gone.