*Sabrina*
The deck is quieter now, but it’s not peaceful. Smoke still lingers in the air, and the scent of blood clings to everything. My ears ring from cannon fire, and every breath feels like a struggle against ash and salt.
Men move around me, some limping, others with bandaged arms or shoulders, their faces streaked with soot and blood. A few of them nod when they pass me, not quite smiling, just acknowledging. I’m not just cargo anymore. I’m someone who fought—someone who killed.
Beside me, Isla crouches with a wet cloth, helping an older crewman bind a gash along his leg. She glances over her shoulder at me. “I still can’t believe it,” she says quietly.
I swallow. “That I killed someone?”
“No. That you saved my life.” Her voice catches, and for a moment she stops what she’s doin
