It isn’t until Chuck’s curious eye settles on me that I get dragged into the discussion. “Hey, pet project, where you from?” she asks, and Swift shifts uncomfortably, her spine rigid.
“The Southern Republic of California,” I say after a moment’s pause.
“Proper SRCese shoregirl,” Swift sniffs.
I don’t dare correct her. It means nothing to this bunch that I’ve spent my whole life with one foot in the sea. They’re so narrow that it makes me want to scream, but I just avert my gaze and shovel another bite of roast into my mouth.
“What’re you doing being a trainer on a vessel like that bucket, then?” Code chuckles. “You’re a friggin’ kid like the rest of us.”
I hesitate again. I don’t know how much to give him—I know every word is a weapon that could just as easily be turned against me. “Grew up doing it,” I finally say. The fact that this was my first solo mission can wait. It weakens me in their eyes, and I know I’m weak enough to start. I want them to underestimate me, but I won’t be a joke to them. And I don’t need Swift to have any less faith in me than she already does.
Code nods, satisfied. “You’re quieter than Lemon on a good day, ain’t you?”
In the blink of an eye, Lemon snatches her knife off her tray and turns it on Code, her lip trembling.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Varma yelps, lunging across the table and latching onto her wrist. “Lemon, look at me. Look at me. Code’s a worthless piece of shit—it doesn’t matter. Look at me.”
As he tries to calm the other lackey, Swift grabs me by the arm and hauls me off the bench. “It only gets worse from here,” she mutters into my ear.
I was only halfway done with my food. I make a mental note to pay more attention to eating and less attention to the company next time. Swift pulls me to the galley’s hatch and clambers out of it. I follow, regretting how easy it is to just go wherever she pulls my leash.
Once we’re out in the quiet of the hall, her brow furrows. “Captain didn’t specify where you’re supposed to sleep,” she muses.
Swift’s thought process is practically etched across her face. She knows I can’t be stowed in the crew quarters or anywhere else where someone could get to me. If there’s a chance the other lackeys might kill me just to sabotage her, she needs to put a locked door between me and them. But the last time she left me locked away in a closet by myself, I nearly got away with taking that pill. There’s no way she’ll risk me finding another way to off myself.
We arrive at the inevitable conclusion at the same time.
“You’re bunking with me,” Swift declares.
And I swear, there’s a part of her that almost enjoys it.
Before I can protest, she’s started off down the hall. I jog after her, trying to form a counterargument. Swift can’t be serious about this. She can’t actually expect that I—
But no, she’s hauling open a hatch and stepping into a dimly lit, cramped room. It’s consumed by the bed built into one wall, the floor carpeted by scattered clothes, a few drawers jutting out haphazardly. The room couldn’t look more like her if it tried.
“I’m not sleeping on your nasty-ass floor,” I warn her.
“No,” she agrees. “You aren’t.”
My gaze drops to the bed.
I hate how much sense it makes. No one’s going to cut my throat with Swift sleeping three inches away. And if she’s scared I’m going to try taking the easy way out again, there’s no way I could get away with it without her noticing.
But first I have to change out of the wetsuit. I tug at the zipper on the collar, and Swift catches on. “I grabbed some stuff from the sunk bucket,” she says, nodding to a sack in the corner. “Was supposed to be for me, but I guess it’ll do the trick for you too.”
I somehow doubt that. Swift’s definitely a size bigger than me. I peer into the bag of clothes, pulling out a striped T-shirt and a pair of gym shorts. That might work. But underwear is another matter entirely—every bra Swift grabbed is two cup sizes too big.
She rolls her eyes when she sees me wrinkle my nose. “Didn’t know I was shopping for two. Don’t blame m—”
“I blame you.”
I decide to just go without, for now. Turning my back to Swift, I unzip my wetsuit and peel it off. The neoprene feels like it might take some of my skin with it, and I wince. I probably shouldn’t have left it on for so long, but I didn’t have a choice. I strip off my bikini top and cram the shirt hastily over my head, glancing over my shoulder when I’ve got it safely on.
Swift stands with her arms folded, her back to me.
I didn’t expect her to be considerate.
I guess she’s just a walking, talking division of self. In front of her peers, in front of the captain, she’s an entirely different person. She puts on this big-shot persona to scare off anyone who dares run up against her. But it seems like I’m not a threat worth her mask.
I finish changing and ball up my wetsuit. This used to be my uniform, a sign that I was trained to command monsters. Now it’s just a hunk of neoprene and fabric that smells of sea and blood. I pitch it into the corner, adding to the heaps of dirty laundry.
Swift doesn’t bat an eye when she turns around and sees it. It’s probably not the worst thing cluttering her floor. Her gaze shifts to me. “You look like a deflated balloon,” she sniggers.
Maybe I’m at the end of my rope. Maybe this day has been too goddamn long and started with my favorite Reckoner getting her innards spilled into the NeoPacific. Maybe I’m stuck on a goddamn pirate ship with my life tied to raising a monster to do the exact opposite of everything I stand for. Maybe I’m done being quiet and small and underestimated.
Maybe that’s why I punch Swift.
She staggers backward, catching herself on the bed. My fist feels like it’s on fire, but it’s nothing compared to the sheer triumph that floods through my body. The imprint of my knuckles is rapidly fading from her cheek, but it’s there.
Of course she lunges, her hands slamming into my shoulders, throwing me against the half-open drawers. I wait for the next blow, but none comes. She hesitates, every part of her body held in tension, then crawls into bed and rolls over, facing the wall. Doesn’t pull the blanket up over her, doesn’t say anything. From a typhoon to stilled seas in the blink of an eye.
Adrenaline took me over for a second, but I’m getting my body back bit by bit, in bruises and aches that I can feel forming everywhere. Out of options, I sit on the edge of the bed, testing to see if she’ll snap at me. But Swift is drawing long, slow breaths now, the kind that bring you teetering over the edge of falling asleep. My gaze lands on her Minnow tattoo peeking out from behind her uneven blonde hair, on the ink that marks her loyalty and what it means to her.
All of a sudden it strikes me: I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Swift. I wouldn’t be alive if she hadn’t held me back when I was ready to tackle Santa Elena. If she hadn’t told the captain to bring me along. If she hadn’t caught me as the pill was on my lips. If it weren’t for her, one way or another I’d be another bloated corpse staining the NeoPacific.
So when I lie back and roll onto my side, I decide I’m not bunking back-to-back with the girl who kept me from sparing Durga or the girl who dragged me aboard the Minnow and threw me into a janitorial closet. She’s not the girl who slammed me into a wall a minute ago or the girl who called me a shoregirl like it was the height of insult.
I’m just going to sleep next to the girl who saved my life.
8
The next morning, I wake up to the girl who saved my life shoving me out of her bed. “Captain said you’re hatching the beast today, since you’re all rested up,” Swift grumbles, stepping over me as she staggers to her feet.