Early the next morning, I reclaimed the seat where I had spent the previous evening, the far corner of the upper deck, partially shaded and tucked out of the main flow of foot traffic.

  The three boys who had spent the night before fluttering around me like overeager moths were absent this morning. I hadn’t realised how much their hovering had kept others at bay until now. Without them, the area felt more exposed. Every glance toward me lingered too long. I curled my fingers around the warm ceramic of my drink and forced myself to relax into the bench.

  I hadn’t slept much. The constant churn of the ship’s engines beneath my feet was a poor substitute for the rhythms I trusted, Selwyn’s brush sweeping through a restless horse’s coat, and Jacobi’s soft snore from his bedroom.

  Breakfast had been surprisingly decent. Thin-sliced meats with a gentle salt edge, soft cheeses that melted on the tongue, and crisp crackers that gave just enough bite to be satisfying. The tray was simple, efficient food for people in transit, but I appreciated the simplicity. I wasn’t particularly hungry, but I picked at it anyway. The act of eating gave my hands something to do.

  Footsteps approached. Not the hasty trot of a crewmember or the lazy shuffle of a passenger enjoying the morning sun. These were precise. Intentional.

  I looked up.

  The man I’d seen speaking with Captain Shaw the day before offered me a shallow bow, his mouth curling into a smile too practiced to be casual.

  “Good morning. It’s a pleasant day to be on the ocean, but then, aren’t they all? Would you be adverse to some company?”

  I gestured to the empty chair across from me. “Help yourself.”

  He set down a tray, neat and untouched, and slid into the chair with careful grace. Today he wore a well-made suit. Crisp lines, clean cut. No insignia that I could see. Just enough polish to suggest authority.

  “I believe I saw you speaking with the Captain yesterday. He called you Admiral?”

  He tilted his head with a faint smirk, like he was pleased I had noticed. “My name is Donald Sinclair. I must admit, I already know who you are. Your reputation precedes you.”

  I didn’t bother wondering which reputation he meant, the fighter or the whore. Either way, he’d already have decided what kind of creature I was.

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Admiral Sinclair. I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting any other military commanders in this realm.”

  He paused, just for a breath, then leaned back, folding his hands over his midsection. “Do you have organised military forces where you’re from?”

  I shook my head slowly. “We have groups, specialised units. But nothing the size of this realm. We don’t need large numbers. Our enemies tend to get dealt with before they gather numbers. Swiftly and publicly.”

  He hummed, thoughtful. “Fascinating. I’ve never had the chance to speak with a demon about the differences between our worlds. Do you mind if I take a few notes?”

  “I don’t mind.”

  He produced a slim green notebook and a fountain pen with a polished black nib. Both had the look of objects that saw heavy use, but were meticulously cared for.

  “Most demons I’ve approached are… reticent. Cautious. I suppose you’re the exception.”

  Reticent. Cautious. Pretty words for afraid. How many of us had he tried to corner before me?

  I took a bite, slow and measured, buying a second to compose myself.

  “That’s because most demons on this plane can’t speak freely.”

  Sinclair said nothing, just watched.

  “When we were granted sanctuary, it wasn’t unconditional. Most of us were fleeing situations you wouldn’t believe. And not all of us found better ones.”

  Still no interruption, just the quiet scratch of his pen. Maybe I was talking because it was the only thing I still had control over. He could take notes, ask questions, prod, but the words were still mine to give. And in this moment, they were the only weapon I still had.

  “In our realm, ownership isn’t shameful. It’s structure. Every demon belongs to someone. It’s not a matter of if, only who. Coming here didn’t change that. We had to swear ourselves to someone in this place or be dragged back.”

  His brow lifted slightly. “So you escaped ownership, only to embrace it again? And that’s… better?”

  I let out a soft breath. My fingers tightened around the handle of my mug. Better. As if I hadn’t been handed a choice between obedience and blood. As if the only thing that mattered was how comfortable the cage looked.

  “You humans have stories about hell. Fire, brimstone, endless suffering. You think it comes after death. And only for the wicked.”

  I looked up and met his eyes.

  “You’re wrong.”

  Sinclair’s smile faded for the first time.

  “In my realm, the so-called Shadow Realm, no one owns themselves. Everyone is used. Hurt. The ones who suffer most turn it into something they can live with. You pass it down. You bleed it into others. And eventually… that’s the only thing that feels right.”

  His pen paused mid-stroke. I’d never said these words to Jacobi, or even Selwyn. But with Sinclair, a stranger on a ship I didn’t choose, it slipped out easier than it should have.

  I let the silence hold.

  “And here,” I said finally, “most of us still end up in cages. Contracts, collars, and the illusion of safety. Some humans take us and treat us like pets. Like things. Challenges to conquer. Toys to break.”

  His pen resumed its rhythm, faster now.

  Whatever I’d hit, it was the nerve he was looking for.

  Then the pen stopped.

  His performance cracked. Not enough to alarm anyone around us, but I’d seen enough masks slip to recognise it for what it was.

  He pointed the tip at me. “And you? You do nothing to dissuade that image, do you?”

  I didn’t mean to growl. It slipped out, low and feral, a sound I’d trained myself to swallow in polite company. But he wasn’t polite. So I didn’t bother pretending to be either.

  “You wear silks. You fight in cages. You call men master. You let yourself be paraded.”

  I didn’t fight in cages. Not literally. But the truth never got in the way of a good accusation.

  Slowly I reached up and unclasped my cloak. The fabric slid from my shoulders, baring the collar at my throat.

  “I wear the mark of House Velez because I choose to. I fight for them because I want to. My ownership is my choice.”

  Sinclair’s attention focused on the collar, as if my words carried no weight. Something about the way he studied the collar made my skin prickle. Not with fear, but with recognition. I knew that kind of gaze. The one that counted cost, not consequences.

  “Is it usual for a slave to be adorned with precious gems? A collar like that is worth a lot of money.”

  “I’d like to see someone take it from me.” I didn’t raise my voice, but the ceramic mug creaked under my grip, a faint crack spidering across the surface.

  “Touchy. Very attached to that symbol of ownership.” Sinclair narrowed his eyes at me, leaning closer across the table. “So why do you keep putting yourself in positions of slavery? You have such strong opinions about your world and your identity, what’s stopping you from enacting them?”

  His voice had changed, no longer just probing, but now like he was savouring the discomfort he was stirring. It made my teeth grind.

  I opened my mouth to respond, but he continued, not letting me get a word in.

  “Could it be that you like being owned? You get all the benefits of moving here and the protection, without having to do anything for it.”

  “I earn my right to live here,” I butted in. “Every fight I step into. Every breath I take under someone else’s rules. Every time I bleed for your entertainment and get back up. I earn it.”

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  I spoke softly, deliberately, but not for his benefit. For mine. I refused to give him the satisfaction of a public outburst.

  “Do you? You sound proud of that.”

  “I am proud of surviving.”

  He smiled again, faint and infuriating. “Survival is a low bar for someone with your reputation. I’ve heard stories, fierce, beautiful, impossible to pin down. But here you are, choosing a collar. Choosing to play the pet.”

  “It’s not a game.”

  “Isn’t it? The silks, the stage, the drama of it all. What’s the difference between a gladiator and a whore when both are dressed up for someone else’s entertainment?”

  “The difference is choice. I choose who gets close to me. I choose who I bleed for.”

  “Do you choose which Velez brother fucks you first, or do they take you together? Just how close are they?”

  My grip tightened. The already-cracked mug gave a soft, splintering pop—then shattered in my hand. Hot ceramic shards bit into my palm, but I barely felt them. The blood rushing in my ears drowned out everything. Conversations, footsteps, even the churn of the ship beneath us.

  It took everything I had not to pick up a shard and drive it into his throat.

  “You don’t have to answer his questions,” a calm voice said, low, firm and unmistakable.

  Susan stood beside the table. There was no point stabbing Sinclair now, not with her here. She was probably bound by some doctor’s code to patch up even the bastards.

  Sinclair straightened. “Excuse me. This is a private conversation.”

  “From where I am standing, it’s not a conversation. It’s a provocation.”

  Her tone was mild, but it didn’t soften the steel behind it.

  A shadow moved behind her, and another figure stepped into view. Taller, broader, and unmistakably demon. Gerard, collared and silent until now, his eyes fixed on Sinclair like he was already calculating the cleanest way to break him in two.

  “Step away from the lady.”

  Sinclair’s chair scraped back hard as he stood. He dragged it between us like a shield.

  He looked from Susan to me, and his smile reappeared, tight and bitter.

  “Rescued by a human again? What are you going to do to pay her back for the trouble?”

  Gerard stepped forward around Susan. He cracked his knuckles one by one, the sound sharp as bone splits.

  “I was going to step in,” he said, his voice low and far too calm. “But the Doc said I wasn’t allowed to rip your head off. Not while we’re still on the ship.”

  He tilted his head slightly. “Remind me, Doc, how many days left on this voyage?”

  “Two,” Susan replied without taking her eyes off Sinclair. “Not too many places to hide on a ship this size.”

  Sinclair grabbed his notebook from the table, stuffed it into his coat, and walked off without another word. Not fast enough to be called running, but with the stiff, overcorrected posture of a man too aware of the eyes on him.

  The moment he disappeared from view, something inside me loosened. Not all the way, but enough that I exhaled for the first time in what felt like minutes. My hands were aching. My lap was scattered with ceramic, and one jagged edge had opened a line across my palm. It was thin, but stinging now that I had space to feel it.

  Susan stepped in closer and placed a firm hand on my arm. “Let me see.”

  I pulled back before I could stop myself. “It's fine.”

  She gave me a pointed look that I recognised too well. “Just because we’re not at the arena doesn’t mean I’m not your doctor.”

  I let her take my hand. The touch was clinical, but careful.

  “It’s shallow,” she murmured. “Ceramic’s not as sharp as glass, thankfully. Still, we should wrap it.”

  Gerard grabbed Sinclair’s abandoned chair and dragged it over with a scrape. He dropped into it, arms crossed, eyes still fixed on the space where Sinclair disappeared.

  “That was fun.”

  “I didn’t need rescuing,” I said at last. It came out flatter than I meant. Too defensive, maybe. Susan didn’t call me on it, but she had that look. The way doctors watch you when they know the problem is worse than you’re showing.

  “I certainly didn’t expect to run into the two of you here.”

  It was small talk, but it was all I had in me at that moment.

  “Actually, we came looking for you.” Susan gave Gerard a quick smile before returning her attention to me. “When we heard there was an unaccompanied demon on board, we wanted to see who, and why.”

  I nodded slowly. “How come I haven’t seen you before now?” I expected her to deflect. Instead, her cheeks flushed like mine did when Selwyn caught me staring too long.

  “We’ve been spending most of the time in our cabin,” Gerard said with a grin.

  I looked down at my hands, feeling uncharacteristically awkward.

  “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

  Susan laughed, patting my uninjured hand. “It’s alright, my dear. It’s not something that we’re hiding.”

  I hesitated, then glanced between the two of them. “How does it work between you two?”

  It wasn’t just nosiness. I wanted to understand how they made it look so easy. So balanced. I didn’t even know what to call what I had. If I had anything. Being around Selwyn or Jacobi never looked this simple.

  Gerard laughed and leaned forward. “Well, first what you gotta do-”

  “She didn’t mean literally,” Susan cut in, raising a hand.

  I smiled, hating the hesitation in my voice. “No, I mean everything outside the bedroom. That part I understand… I think.”

  They both chuckled, and I could feel the tension start to ease from my shoulders. Until Susan tilted her head at me.

  “Is there something going on?”

  Gerard turned theatrically, scanning the deck. “Is he here? Are you two on a romantic getaway?”

  He didn’t say which brother. Maybe he was just trying to get under my skin.

  The morning chill hadn’t deepened, but I closed the cloak anyway, the motion giving me something to do with my hands.

  “No, Gerard. This is business, not pleasure.”

  “So there is pleasure, then?” he teased.

  I shot Susan a helpless look. “How do you shut him up?”

  She grinned, “I could tell you, but-”

  "Oh no!" I said quickly, clapping my hands over my ears with a laugh. "I didn't mean that."

  The laughter came easier than I expected. Like a pressure valve finally letting go. In that moment between heartbeats, I wasn't a weapon, or a target, or a deal waiting to be struck. I was just a girl on a ship, laughing with people who cared.

  For a brief moment, it felt normal. Safe.

  "If you ever want to talk about it," Susan said, her tone softening. "Somewhere we won't be interrupted..."

  "I'd like that." I was surprised by how much I meant it. I wasn't sure if I'd actually take her up on the offer, but it was nice knowing someone was there.

  The ease slipped away as quickly as it came. My smile faltered, tugged down by the real weight of my journey.

  Susan noticed. Of course she did.

  "Can I ask what business you're on, over on the mainland?"

  I leaned my elbows on the table. "I'm... hunting someone."

  The words tasted like iron. Heavy, bloody, and final.

  Gerard's amusement faded immediately. "Anyone we know?"

  I met his eyes. "Marcelo. He took Ellah."

  Just saying his name soured my mouth. I expected the slight nausea, but not the sudden sting behind my eyes. Rage or guilt, I couldn't tell. Maybe both.

  All the colour drained from Gerard's face. He covered his mouth with his hands.

  "There was blood," I said softly. "All over my room. I didn't know if she was alive until-" I swallowed. "I went to Marcelo's estate. He was already gone, but he left behind a message. And another demon girl. She was young. Scared. He knew I'd come.”

  My claws curled into my palms. “He says he won't hurt Ellah."

  Gerard didn’t speak. His hands were clenched into fists on the table, his knuckles pale against his skin. The muscle in his jaw ticked once. Twice.

  Susan reached out instinctively, placing a hand on his arm. “Gerard-”

  “He says he won’t hurt her? You believe that?”

  “I don’t know what I believe. But I know what he wants.”

  Susan’s eyes narrowed. “Which is?”

  “A trade.”

  Gerard slammed both fists into the table. The crack echoed across the deck, and several passengers turned to look.

  I didn’t flinch, but everything in me went taut.

  “He has to die. Now. You know where he is-”

  “I want him dead,” I cut in. “But not before I get Ellah back. She’s still alive. That’s the only thing that matters right now.”

  “You’re walking into a trap. You know that, right?”

  Susan raised both hands. “Stop. Both of you. Joy said it’s a trade. What’s he asking for in return?”

  I looked down at my lap, silent.

  Gerard’s voice dropped. “Show me your ticket.”

  I didn’t move. “I have a plan.”

  Susan’s gaze darted between us. “What plan? What’s going on?”

  Gerard nodded toward me. “Her ticket. It’ll prove it.”

  Susan’s voice hardened. “Joy. Let me see it.”

  I shook my head slowly, pleading with my eyes.

  “Please don’t make me order you.”

  With a furious glare at Gerard, I pulled the slip from the pouch at my hip and slid it across the table.

  As soon as Susan picked it up, Gerard leaned in.

  “There! I knew it!”

  He slammed his fists down again. A thunderous crack split through the wood, louder this time. My forgotten breakfast teetered close to the table’s edge.

  “Gerard!” Susan barked, startling a nearby couple. I didn’t blame them for abandoning what remained of their breakfast.

  Gerard rose, the motion abrupt enough to send his chair clattering backward across the deck.

  “It’s a good deal. It gets Ellah out, that’s all that matters.”

  “Joy, he’ll kill you. Or worse.”

  I stood, as close to eye to eye as I could get with him. Around us, silence spread like a ripple. Dozens of passengers were watching now. Half-finished breakfasts forgotten, conversations abandoned.

  A crewmember approached, walking stiffer than his pressed uniform. His eyes flicked to Gerard and then settled on Susan.

  “Doctor. If you could please escort your… companion below deck. Before things escalate to a point beyond our control.”

  Only then did he glance at me. Brief, and hesitant.

  “And someone should be accompanying… her,” he added, quieter. Not quite a reprimand.

  I sat slowly, spine straight, hands folded in my lap. Unobtrusive. Obedient. Whatever he needed to believe to let me stay on deck.

  Susan’s hand was already curled around Gerard’s arm “Of course.”

  I didn’t think he was going to move. No one on board could physically move him if he didn’t want to go. But after a moment, he let Susan guide him away from the table, his heavy footfalls echoing across the deck.

  I grabbed my ticket before it had a chance to flap away in the wind and glanced at it briefly before tucking it back into my pouch.

  One Way.