"Captain," Harrow called from the crow's nest, eyes fixed on the horizon, "You're going to want to see this."
Sawyer climbed the rigging with practiced ease, squinting into the spyglass Harrow handed him.
His jaw tightened.
Below them, clustered just off a jagged stretch of coastline, were not one or two — but five Spanish ships. Their flags fluttered high, black cannons glinting in the sun like fangs. The ships were positioned in a protective arc around a smaller cove where longboats were being loaded and cargo exchanged. It wasn't just a military patrol — this was something more. Something organized.
"They've got twice the firepower we expected," Harrow said grimly. "Triple the men."
Sawyer muttered a curse. "No way we're hitting that head-on and living to tell the tale."
He climbed back down, barking orders for the men to hold course — but quiet their movements. No noise, no light. They'd anchor behind a thick outcropping of rock that shielded them from view, at least for the night.
Syrena was already waiting on the quarterdeck when he returned. "Bad?"
"Worse," Sawyer said. "We attack now, we die. All of us."
She tilted her head. "So we wait?"
He nodded. "We strike early morning. Just before first light. Their guard will be down, most of them still half-asleep or too confident in their numbers. It's our best shot."
Syrena folded her arms, lips pursed. "What do you need me to do?"
He looked at her for a moment too long. "Just… stay close. And don't get yourself killed."
She gave a mock salute. "Yes, Captain."
But beneath the sarcasm, her mind raced.
The coin at her hip felt like it burned against her skin. She knew this battle wouldn't just decide the fate of Sawyer's ship — it would determine hers, too. If she didn't get that cursed gold back from the Spaniards and return it to the sea, she'd be bound to land. Powerless. A shadow of what she was born to be.
That night, the crew moved in silence, anchoring in the cover of jagged rocks. No campfires. No light. Just whispered conversations, weapons sharpened in the dark, and the creak of old wood in the tide.
Sawyer stood alone near the helm, watching the distant enemy lights flicker on the water like fireflies before a storm.
Syrena joined him quietly.
"You ever think we'll make it out of this?" she asked.
"I don't think," Sawyer replied. "I fight. I survive."
She glanced at him sideways. "That's a very pirate thing to say."
He smirked. "And yet, you're still here."
"Maybe I like a bit of chaos," she said, though her smile didn't quite reach her eyes.
He nodded toward the horizon. "Get some sleep. We move at first light."
She hesitated, then finally said, "Just… be careful, Sawyer."
He didn't respond right away. Just gave her a slow nod, then turned back to the dark sea.
The stillness before dawn held its breath.
Tomorrow, blood would spill.
And for Syrena… so would truth.