The cabin is quiet except for the faint hum of the ship cutting through the waves. Jack’s steady breathing beside me offers a fragile sense of calm, but my mind refuses to rest. Each clue we’ve gathered feels like a piece of a shattered mirror—fragmented and unclear, but somehow part of a larger, darker image.
I lie there in the dim light filtering through the curtains, replaying the events of the day. The cryptic warnings, the tense interactions with the crew, and Jacob Sylvester’s ever-present shadow all swirl in my thoughts. The weight of it presses down on me, making it impossible to stay still.
I glance over at Jack. His brow is furrowed even in sleep, his protective instincts clearly battling the peace he desperately needs. I slip out of bed as quietly as possible, grabbing my note
