The safehouse was a tomb of snores and spilled booze, its air thick with the stale scent of alcohol.
The party had burned out, leaving pirates sprawled across the floor, their ragtag clothes tangled, bottles rolling in the dim glow of a flickering bulb.
Vera stirred, her purple wavy hair splayed across her patched tunic, her purple eyes peeking open as Syn shifted beside her, his body rustling against the tangle of limbs—Pako's and Aster's—pinning him down.
She caught a glimpse of him, slightly sober now, his hazel eyes squinting at the contract paper that had slipped from his pocket, the handwritten pledge from her, Pako, and Aster glowing faintly in the light.
A grin sparked in her mind, hope flickering that he'd grasped its weight—their offer, veiled but bold, to give themselves to him, body and soul.
But as he sighed and slumped back into sleep, her grin faded, anxiety gnawing.
Vera lay still, her heart racing, the room's silence pressing against her.
