The Crimson Gull sliced through the afternoon sky, her weathered hull gleaming in the slanting sunlight. From the captain's chair, Dalia watched clouds drift past the main viewport, their wispy forms hypnotic in their constant reshaping. Four hours into their journey and the initial tension of departure had mellowed into something approaching routine.

  The bridge hummed with quiet activity. Finnian methodically checked and rechecked the ship's defensive systems, his movements economical and precise. Tessa had retreated to the engine room after the first hour, muttering about "inconsistent pressure readings" that only she could apparently hear. Arlo remained at the navigation console, occasionally adjusting their course to account for subtle shifts in wind patterns, his usual ebullience tempered by professional focus.

  Dalia's fingers brushed absently against the captain's insignia pinned to her collar. The metal was cool against her skin, a tangible reminder of her unexpected authority. Part of her still expected someone to burst onto the bridge, declare a mistake had been made, and demand she relinquish command to a more qualified individual.

  "You're doing fine, you know," Arlo remarked without looking up from his console, as if reading her thoughts. "For someone who expected to be expelled yesterday."

  Dalia's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Is my uncertainty that obvious?"

  Arlo glanced up, his expression unusually serious. "Only to those who know what to look for. The constant touching of the insignia. The way you hesitate fractionally before giving orders. The periodic checking of manual procedures that most captains would delegate." He shrugged. "Small tells."

  "And you know what to look for because...?"

  A ghost of his customary grin flickered across his face. "Let's just say I've sailed with many captains on their maiden voyages. First-time command has a particular... aroma."

  "Wonderful," Dalia muttered. "I smell of inexperience."

  "Actually, you smell like academy-issue lavender soap and nervous determination," Arlo corrected cheerfully. "Which is vastly preferable to some of the alternatives I've encountered. There was this one captain on the southern trade route who believed bathing would 'weaken his connection to the aerial elements.' Three weeks in those close quarters, and the crew was ready to mutiny based on the smell alone."

  Despite herself, Dalia laughed. "I'll be sure to maintain regular bathing protocols."

  "Your crew thanks you in advance," Arlo replied with a mock salute. His gaze shifted to the navigational display, a small furrow appearing between his brows. "Hmm. That's interesting."

  "What is?" Dalia asked, immediately alert.

  "Barometric pressure's dropping faster than predicted. Nothing alarming yet, but worth keeping an eye on." He tapped a series of commands into his console. "Could be an early indicator of that low-pressure system I mentioned. If so, it's moving in quicker than forecasted."

  Finnian looked up from his station. "Recommendation?"

  Arlo's fingers danced across his display, generating a rapid series of calculations. "Maintain course for now, but prepare for possible altitude adjustment if conditions deteriorate. We're still at least six hours from any significant weather according to current models."

  "Noted," Dalia acknowledged. "Keep me informed of any significant changes." She rose from her chair, stretching muscles that had grown stiff from tension and inactivity. "I'm going to check on Engineer Holt. Finn, you have the bridge."

  "Aye, Captain." Finnian moved smoothly to the command station, his transition from first mate to acting captain so seamless it seemed rehearsed.

  As Dalia made her way through the Gull's corridors toward the engine room, she felt the subtle vibrations of the vessel's ancient machinery through the soles of her boots. The ship had a rhythm to it, a mechanical heartbeat composed of countless interconnected systems working in tenuous harmony. Despite its age and condition, there was something reassuring about the consistent thrumming of its engines, the whisper of air through its ventilation ducts, the occasional creak of its hull adjusting to changing atmospheric pressures.

  The engine room's heavy door was propped open with a wrench that looked sturdy enough to bludgeon a small bear. Beyond it, a cavernous space filled with gleaming pipes, pulsing magical conduits, and massive turbines stretched like some mechanical dreamscape. The air was thick with the scent of oil and the metallic tang of active enchantments.

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  "Engineer Holt?" Dalia called, raising her voice to be heard over the ambient roar.

  No response came, but a series of rhythmic clangs led her deeper into the mechanical labyrinth. She found Tessa wedged into an impossibly small space between two cylindrical tanks, only her legs visible as she stretched to reach something deeper within the machinery.

  "Blasted compression valves," Tessa's voice echoed metallically from within the confined space. "Whoever installed these should be keelhauled beneath an airship at maximum altitude."

  "Would that be physically possible?" Dalia inquired, announcing her presence.

  Tessa's body jerked in surprise, followed by a dull thud and a colorful string of profanity that would have made a seasoned dockworker blush. She extracted herself from the narrow gap with the fluid grace of someone accustomed to maneuvering in tight spaces, though her expression was anything but graceful as she rubbed a reddening spot on her forehead.

  "Captain," she acknowledged curtly, wiping grease-stained hands on an already filthy rag. "Come to see what's keeping your ship from disintegrating mid-flight?"

  "Something like that," Dalia replied, refusing to be baited by the engineer's prickly demeanor. "Arlo mentioned changing weather conditions. I wanted to ensure the engines are prepared for potentially rougher flying."

  Tessa's eyes narrowed slightly, assessing Dalia with renewed interest. "Rougher flying? How rough are we talking?"

  "Nothing immediate," Dalia assured her. "Barometric pressure dropping faster than predicted. Could be nothing, could be early signs of that approaching low-pressure system."

  "Hmm." Tessa moved to a nearby control panel, tapping a series of commands that brought up a diagnostic display of the engine systems. "Port engine's running hot—about seven percent above optimal. Not dangerous yet, but it'll be a problem if we need to push for extra speed or maneuverability."

  "Can it be fixed?"

  "Not without landing. The issue's in the cooling array, which means shutting down the entire propulsion system to access it safely." Tessa's fingers moved across the panel, making minute adjustments. "I can compensate by redistributing the load and modifying the fuel mixture, but it's a patch, not a proper fix."

  Dalia studied the diagnostic display, recognizing enough of the technical data to understand the severity of the situation. "Will it hold if the weather turns?"

  "Probably," Tessa replied, emphasizing the uncertainty. "Unless someone was planning an extended full-throttle chase sequence through thunderheads, in which case, I'd respectfully request advance notice so I can prepare my final will and testament."

  Despite the engineer's acerbic tone, Dalia detected a hint of genuine concern beneath the sarcasm. "What about the magical arrays? Finn mentioned they're temperamental at high altitudes."

  "That's putting it mildly." Tessa gestured to a separate panel where arcane symbols pulsed in complex patterns. "The primary array's stabilizer is cracked. Not enough to prevent basic operations, but if we try to draw too much power too quickly, we risk a cascade failure."

  "Which would mean...?"

  "Best case? Complete loss of magical flight assist, leaving us on conventional engines only. Worst case?" Tessa drew a finger across her throat in a universal gesture. "Catastrophic energy release. A very pretty explosion. Brief but spectacular funeral for all involved."

  Dalia absorbed this information with outward calm, though her mind raced through contingency plans. "I'm sensing these aren't typical maintenance issues for a vessel cleared for a transoceanic journey."

  Something flashed in Tessa's eyes—approval, perhaps, at Dalia's perception. "No, they're not. Someone wanted this ship gone, but they weren't particularly concerned whether it arrived intact at its destination." She paused, studying Dalia's face. "You knew that already, though, didn't you? You knew when you saw what was in the cargo hold."

  "I suspected," Dalia acknowledged. "The crystal changes everything—context, stakes, potential motives."

  "Yet you still chose to depart."

  "I did."

  "Why?" The question was blunt, devoid of Tessa's usual sarcasm. Just a straightforward inquiry that demanded an equally straightforward answer.

  Dalia considered her response carefully. This wasn't just idle curiosity; it was a test. Tessa was evaluating whether her captain was reckless, naive, or something else entirely.

  "Because staying meant surrendering to someone else's narrative," she finally replied. "Leaving means a chance to uncover the truth, to understand why Ezra was targeted, why the academy was attacked, what the crystal means." She met Tessa's gaze directly. "And because I have a feeling you, Finn, and Arlo weren't randomly assigned to this mission. Ezra chose you specifically, which means he trusted you. That's enough for me to give you a chance to earn my trust too."

  Tessa held her gaze for a long moment, her expression inscrutable. Then she gave a short, decisive nod and turned back to her control panel. "In that case, you should know the starboard engine's emergency cutoff is also malfunctioning. If we need to shut it down quickly, someone will need to manually throw the switch in compartment 4-C." She didn't look up as she continued adjustments. "Just in case that weather turns out to be more than a passing concern."

  The admission of additional problems was, paradoxically, a peace offering—a gesture of professional trust from an engineer who clearly took her responsibilities seriously. Dalia recognized it as such and responded in kind.

  "I appreciate the thoroughness of your assessment, Engineer Holt. Keep me updated on any changes, and don't hesitate to requisition whatever supplies you need from the cargo holds." She turned to leave, then paused. "And Tessa? Good work keeping us in the air."

  A grunt was the only acknowledgment, but as Dalia made her way back toward the bridge, she sensed the first fragile thread of respect beginning to form between them. It wasn't friendship, or even particularly warm collegiality, but it was a start.