CHAPTER TWO HUNDRED AND SIX

The moon barely peeked through, its dim light doing little to soften the tension coiling through the deck like a drawn bowstring.

The crew was too quiet.

No songs, no drunken laughter. Just low murmurs and darting glances toward the distant ship that had been shadowing them for the past few hours. The faint flicker of lanterns blinked in a pattern—once, twice, pause. Then again.

A message.

No one could decipher it.

And that was the problem.

Rian stood near the helm, arms crossed, weight shifted onto one leg in an easy stance that looked relaxed—but wasn't. His sharp gaze lingered on the flickering signals before cutting away, landing instead on the small clusters of men whispering among themselves.

Not good.

Kalei, his first mate, stepped into view, rolling her shoulders as she approached. She didn't bother with pretence.

"This is the third time they've signaled, Captain."