Chapter 6

Anne had tried to say no.

She had tried very hard.

But, as it turned out, trying to refuse Valentine Fontaine was a lot like trying to refuse gravity—impossible, infuriating, and bound to end with someone hitting the floor.

Which was why, despite every fiber of her being screaming that this was a horrible idea, she now found herself standing in the doorway of her tiny, barely-a-flat home, staring at the disaster that had once been her living room.

And in the middle of it all, lounging on her battered excuse for a couch like he owned the place, was Valentine Fontaine.

"Well," he declared, gesturing vaguely at the space around him, "this is cozy."

Anne closed her eyes. Breathed in. Breathed out. Do not strangle him.

"It's small," she muttered.

"It's charming," he corrected.

"It's—"

A small body suddenly launched itself at Valentine's face.

To his credit, he did not scream. He did, however, make a very undignified choking noise as two grubby hands latched onto his hair and a tiny goblin child clung to his head like some sort of deranged hat.

Anne sighed. "That would be Tomas."

"Tomas?" Valentine asked, his voice slightly strained as the child pulled.

A second goblin appeared from the shadows (or, more accurately, from behind the rickety bookshelf) with a wooden spoon raised like a sword.

"And that," Anne said dryly, "is Elric."

Elric narrowed his eyes at Valentine like a tiny war general assessing a threat. "You're the blood man."

Valentine blinked. "I—pardon?"

"You kill people," Elric stated, his tiny brow furrowing. "For fun."

Tomas, still hanging from Valentine's head like a bat, gasped. "Like a pirate?"

Elric nodded. "Like a pirate."

Anne pinched the bridge of her nose. "He's not a pirate."

"That's exactly what a pirate's first mate would say," Elric muttered.

Valentine, meanwhile, had managed to pry Tomas off his skull and was now holding the child at arm's length, studying him with mild amusement. "I'm flattered, really, but I'm afraid I lack the proper nautical experience to be a pirate."

Tomas squinted. "What's nautical?"

"It means 'of the sea.'"

Tomas gasped again. "So you are a pirate!"

Anne sighed.

Valentine, because he was Valentine, grinned. "Guilty as charged."

Elric pointed the wooden spoon at him accusingly. "Prove it."

Valentine tilted his head. "You want me to prove I'm a pirate?"

The boys nodded in unison.

Anne groaned. "Valentine, please don't—"

But it was too late.

Valentine Fontaine, full-grown man, notorious fool, and possibly the worst influence to ever step foot in her home, leapt onto the couch, struck a dramatic pose, and bellowed in a truly atrocious accent—

"YARR, YE LADS BE QUESTIONIN' ME HONOR?"

Tomas screamed in delight. Elric looked genuinely impressed.

Anne, however, looked at the ceiling and prayed for patience.

"I cannot believe this is happening," she muttered.

"Anne, quick!" Tomas shouted, scrambling onto the couch beside Valentine. "You gotta be part of the crew!"

"I think not."

"Come now, first mate!" Valentine called, reaching out and tugging her forward despite her very clear reluctance. "The ship won't run itself!"

"I don't have a ship," she deadpanned.

"You do now!"

Elric, apparently deciding to fully commit to the bit, climbed onto the bookshelf and announced, "I'M THE LOOKOUT!"

Anne paled. "Get down from there before you—"

Elric jumped.

Anne's heart stopped.

Valentine caught him with one arm.

"—kill yourself," Anne finished weakly, her hands still half-raised in horror.

Valentine, unfazed, plopped Elric onto the couch beside him like a sack of potatoes.

"Fear not, my dear Anne!" he declared, dramatically throwing an arm over her shoulders. "No harm shall befall the crew under my watch!"

Anne, who was still recovering from witnessing an actual heart attack in real-time, groaned. "I hate you."

Valentine winked. "You'll grow fond of me in time."

"Never."

"Captain!" Tomas suddenly shrieked. "We're under attack!"

Elric gasped. "It's the sea demons!"

Anne stared. "The what."

Valentine, without hesitation, grabbed a pillow and hurled it across the room.

"FIRE THE CANNONS!"

Absolute chaos erupted.

Pillows. Wooden spoons. Screaming.

At some point, Tomas started using Anne's actual broom as a sword. Elric somehow climbed back onto the bookshelf. Valentine, naturally, was at the center of it all, fully committed to his role as the most insufferable pretend pirate in history.

Anne, meanwhile, sat in the corner, head in her hands, wondering what she had done in a past life to deserve this.

By the time it was over, the house was a disaster.

The boys were sprawled across the floor, exhausted but victorious.

And Valentine Fontaine—grown man, chaos incarnate, menace to society—was sitting cross-legged in the wreckage, grinning like an idiot.

Anne exhaled. "You're never coming here again."

Valentine, lying on his back with Tomas sprawled across his chest, smirked.

"That," he said, stretching lazily, "is what you think."

***

Anne had spent the entire walk home feeling like a ghost.

Everything felt wrong.

The streets of Blackmire had never been safe, but tonight, they felt hostile—as though they were watching her, waiting for her to stumble. Every face she passed made her shrink in on herself, flinching at shadows that weren't moving, jumping at voices that weren't speaking to her.

She could still feel his hands on her. The stink of his breath, the sick amusement in his laughter. The way he had looked at her.

And then—Valentine.

A worse monster, as if fate had decided to double down on her suffering.

She had spent the entire night waiting for the fear to settle, waiting for her stomach to twist in dread, waiting for her bones to scream at her to run.

But it never came.

Valentine had laughed. Had teased. Had pried into her thoughts with all the grace of a pickpocket in a crowded marketplace.

And now, here he was. In her tiny, crumbling excuse for a home.

Letting Tomas dangle from his hair like a particularly aggressive monkey.

Letting Elric interrogate him with a wooden spoon.

And instead of looking like a monster, instead of filling the room with dread, instead of making her want to crawl out of her own skin—

He was playing.

With her brothers.

The same boys she had spent years protecting, shielding, keeping away from men like him.

And yet…

Tomas was laughing so hard he could barely breathe.

Elric, always so suspicious, always so wary, was grinning like Valentine had just handed him the secrets of the universe.

And Valentine—Valentine was laughing too.

Not mocking. Not cruel. Not sharp-edged like Markov's men, or distant like the strangers she had worked for.

Just—laughing.

Like he belonged here.

Like he wasn't the same man who had turned a skull into a pile of shattered bone just hours ago.

Like he wasn't the same man who had walked her home because she had been too afraid to do it alone.

Anne sat back, curling her knees to her chest, watching as Tomas climbed onto Valentine's shoulders and demanded a piggyback ride.

And Valentine—without hesitation, without complaint—

Picked him up and ran across the tiny flat like a damn racehorse.

Tomas shrieked with delight.

Elric cheered.

Anne—

Anne didn't know what to think.

Her ribs still ached from where she had been grabbed.

Her mind still screamed that she was dirty, tainted, ruined.

But here, in this moment—

In this tiny, broken home—

Her brothers were safe.

Her brothers were happy.

And the man she should be afraid of…

The monster she had seen in that alleyway…

Was making them laugh.

Anne swallowed, pulling her arms tighter around herself.

Her thoughts were a storm.

Her body was exhausted.

But for the first time all night, she felt like she wasn't drowning.

For the first time all night, she let herself breathe.

***

Valentine Fontaine was many things.

A charlatan, a fool, a liar—all by his own admission.

A murderer, a monster, a man with bloodstained hands—all by the admissions of others.

But in this moment, standing in the dim glow of a half-dead lantern, watching Anne curled up like a wounded thing on the threadbare couch…

He was simply watching.

She had fallen asleep in the position she'd curled into hours ago—knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around herself, as though even in unconsciousness, she needed to protect something.

Her breath was slow, but not peaceful. Not quite.

Not the rest of someone who had let go.

The little flat was quiet now, save for the occasional crack of wood settling, the distant chatter of Blackmire's streets still alive in the night.

Elric and Tomas stood beside him, not speaking.

That was rare.

They were the new crewmen—Tomas and Elric. Children that were locked in a cramped apartment all alone to fend for themselves, while their only guardian risked her life for a living.

They were hers.

And they were staring at her now with something dangerously close to sadness.

Elric, the taller of the two, rubbed at the back of his neck. "She looks…" He hesitated, then shook his head. "I dunno."

Tomas, younger, but sharper, exhaled through his nose. "She looks tired."

Valentine chuckled. "She is tired."

Elric shot him a look. "That's not what I meant."

Valentine knew.

But he had never been one for voicing the obvious.

Tomas shifted, his brow furrowed as he looked at Anne. "She never sleeps like that."

Valentine hummed. "Like what?"

"Like…" Tomas waved a vague hand. "That."

"Ah."

Like she had fought sleep and lost.

Like she had only collapsed because she had nothing left to keep her awake.

Elric's voice was quieter when he spoke next. "Do you think she's pretty?"

Valentine turned his gaze from Anne to him, lifting an eyebrow. "Is this a trap?"

Tomas smirked. "We'd know if it was."

Valentine grinned.

The boys were sharp. He liked that.

"Well?" Elric pressed. "Do you?"

Valentine tilted his head, considering.

Anne was—hmm.

Not beautiful in the way that turned heads.

Not charming in the way that lured men into forgetting their wallets.

But she had sharp eyes and quick hands.

Had a mind that fought even when her body couldn't.

Had a way of standing her ground even when she wanted to run.

Pretty?

Pretty was too soft a word.

"She's interesting," he finally said, because that was true.

Tomas snorted. "That's not what we asked."

Valentine chuckled, leaning lazily against the wall. "She'd be offended if I called her pretty."

Elric grinned. "Yeah, probably."

Tomas nudged Elric. "Would still be funny, though."

Elric snickered. "Bet she'd punch him."

"Bet she'd miss."

"Bet she wouldn't."

Valentine sighed, shaking his head as they devolved into hushed arguments over Anne's hypothetical ability to break his nose.

He looked at her again.

Her fingers twitched in her sleep.

Her breath hitched—just slightly.

Then evened out again.

Valentine let the boys bicker.

Let the silence stretch.

And for the first time in a long time, he simply watched.