CHAPTER 49: [49] EVERY OTHER PATH

The sunlight glinted off the gemstones adorning Alyssa’s riding crop, casting miniature rainbows across the polished deck as her fingers nervously tightened around the ornamental weapon at her belt.

"What do we do?" she asked. A slight tremor ran through her full lips as she awaited his response.

Fleeing meant raising anchor and catching enough wind, a process that would consume precious minutes they simply didn’t have. The Crimson Sparrow might be swift once underway, but right now she sat vulnerable as a wounded bird before predators.

Standing their ground meant pitting themselves, one experienced fighter and a sheltered naval officer’s daughter whose entire combat repertoire consisted of pointing and ordering others to violence, against twelve battle-hardened pirates whose bodies told stories of countless survived encounters.

That wasn’t bravery; it was a death wish wrapped in foolish pride.

The third option, negotiation, seemed equally hopeless. Men who rowed with such single-minded purpose, their muscles straining with each powerful stroke, rarely came to exchange pleasantries or engage in reasonable discourse.

Unless this is exactly what Moreau planned from the beginning.

Everything he recalled about Captain Lydia Moreau painted her as meticulous and calculating—a master strategist who manipulated people as easily as others moved chess pieces. If she truly coveted Raven’s navigational talents, she wouldn’t merely extend an offer. No, she would methodically eliminate every alternative available to her target.

"We’re about to find out what kind of partnership Moreau really has in mind," Pierre murmured, keeping his voice low enough that only Alyssa could hear him. His fingers drifted upward, seeking the sea-blue stone hanging from the simple cord around his neck. The smooth talisman felt cool against his skin, anchoring him to the present moment as his mind raced through possibilities.

The approaching longboat cut through the harbor waters with unsettling efficiency, each oar dipping and rising in perfect coordination. As they drew closer, the amber glow of the setting sun illuminated the faces of their visitors. These weren’t common thugs or random muscle. These were hardened veterans who wore their numerous scars like badges of honor—men who had survived countless encounters in a world where even a moment’s hesitation meant death. At the bow stood their leader, a veritable mountain of a man, maintaining perfect balance despite the rocking boat. His enormous hand rested with deceptive casualness upon the hilt of a curved saber—a blade whose nicks and discoloration spoke of frequent, violent use.

"Ahoy!" the giant bellowed, his deep voice carrying effortlessly across the water without any strain. "Captain Moreau requests the pleasure of your company ashore. Both of you."

⚓

Back in the amber-lit tavern, Moreau tilted her head, as if the very air around her carried whispered secrets that only she possessed the ability to decipher.

"Of course, true partnership demands something far more intimate than mere cooperation," she murmured, her voice carrying the silken undertones of a confession shared between lovers. "It requires the absolute transparency of souls laid bare, the sweet vulnerability of shared secrets, and most importantly..." She paused, allowing the silence to stretch until it became almost unbearable. "The iron certainty that we serve identical masters, with no hidden allegiances lurking in the shadows of our hearts."

Raven felt something cold and terrible unfurling in her chest—a creeping realization that spread through her veins like winter frost claiming a garden. The timing of everything: the longboat’s arrival, the casual way Moreau emphasized trust while speaking of partnership, the theatrical precision of every gesture and word. This wasn’t a recruitment offer born from professional respect or mutual benefit.

"You’re not offering me a position," Raven said. "You’re systematically burning away every other path I might take until only yours remains."

Moreau’s lips curved upward in a smile that belonged in nightmares—too wide, too knowing, revealing teeth that gleamed like polished ivory in the flickering light. The expression radiated warmth and terror in equal measure, the sort of smile that ancient sailors might have glimpsed in the foam of breaking waves just before their ships were dragged beneath the surface by creatures from the deepest trenches.

"Such harsh language for what is, fundamentally, an act of kindness," she replied, her voice carrying notes of wounded innocence that fooled absolutely no one present.

One scaled finger traced lazy, mesmerizing circles around the rim of her wine glass. The sound it produced was hardly perceptible, yet somehow it dominated the entire tavern with its hushed promise of violence.

Each delicate revolution sent tiny vibrations through the aged wood of the table, creating ripples in the untouched wine that mirrored the spreading unease throughout the room.

"Your captain will remain in perfect health and excellent spirits, naturally. Their safety is guaranteed, sealed with my personal word of honor..."

She allowed the sentence to hang unfinished, letting the unspoken threat coil in the air like smoke from a funeral pyre.

Shadows crept inward, moving like they served as extensions of the woman’s will. They pooled around her feet and climbed the walls behind her, creating the illusion that she sat at the center of a void that consumed light itself.

Through the grime-coated window that overlooked the harbor, the rhythmic splash of oars cutting through dark water grew steadily louder, each stroke marking another second lost, another moment stolen from the rapidly shrinking window of choice.

Raven’s gaze dropped to the wine glass sitting untouched, its dark surface reflecting not her own features but the haunting memory of her sister’s face—beautiful, terrified, and trapped behind bars.

Twenty-five million Cori.

The number had become a mantra, a prayer, a curse that defined every breath she drew and every decision she made. It represented freedom from chains both literal and metaphorical, the chance to reach back through time and undo the single worst moment of her existence—to heal a wound that had been bleeding her soul dry for endless, agonizing years.

And all she had to do was turn her back on the first man in her adult life that made her smile the same way her sister did.