The cheers had long faded.
Now only the creaking of wood, the lapping of sea against the hull, and the clinking of chains filled the silence.
Sawyer sat in a small, damp holding cell below the Spanish deck. His wrists were raw from the iron cuffs. His muscles ached. But none of it mattered.
She was gone.
And still… her name wouldn't leave his thoughts.
Syrena.
It repeated in his head with every heartbeat, every breath.
She had lied to him.
Or had she?
He didn't know anymore.
Footsteps echoed down the passage. Two Spanish officers, flanked by a younger soldier, came to stand before the bars. One of them — a grey-bearded man with weathered eyes and a straight spine — crouched down.
"You have questions," he said flatly. "Ask them."
Sawyer lifted his head. His voice was low, tired, but sharp. "The girl — Syrena. She said you took her father."
The soldiers exchanged glances.
Then the grey-bearded one replied, "We've taken no civilian hostages in the last season. No men matching the description she gave. In fact…"
He stood, folding his arms behind his back. "She wasn't with you from the start. We noticed her watching our ship during port stops — weeks ago. She was always nearby. We assumed she was scouting for someone else."
Sawyer's brows drew together. "That can't be right."
"She lied to you," the younger officer said with a shrug. "Or maybe she believed the lie herself. Who knows."
Sawyer's jaw tensed. His mind reeled back to all the moments they'd shared — her watching the sea alone, the way she'd avoided personal questions, the way she'd looked at that cursed gold like it burned her.
"Speaking of the gold," he said, carefully. "The cursed gold. What did you do with it?"
The air shifted.
All three soldiers stilled.
Finally, the older one spoke. "We keep it stored. Locked away. We don't touch it."
"Why?"
"Because ever since we took it, we've lost three ships, two dozen men, and half our luck at sea." He met Sawyer's eyes. "Some of us believe it carries more than a curse. Something older. Something waiting."
Sawyer narrowed his eyes. "So why not throw it overboard?"
Another pause. Then the younger soldier spoke with a dry laugh, "Because no one wants to be the one who dies next."
Sawyer leaned back against the cold wall, thoughts spiraling.
So Syrena had lied.
Or she had her own mission — one she never let him see.
But the pain in her eyes, the fury in her voice, the blood in the water — all of it had been real.
Still chained, still broken, Sawyer looked toward the sliver of sea through the porthole.
"She was hiding something," he muttered under his breath.
But now?
Now he needed to know what.