You always knew Nathan had a taste for danger. It was part of what drew you to him—the way his eyes lit up when he talked about ancient cities and lost pirate ships. But he promised that life was behind him now. That with you, he wants to settle down.

So when he told you about the diving job in Malaysia, you wanted to believe him. You smiled, kissed his cheek, and wished him luck, even though something in your gut twisted.

Weeks passed.

Then something slipped—a weird interaction on the phone, he thought you didn’t hear from the other side of the line before he hanged up: Sam. You’d never heard him talk about a ‘Sam’ before.

So you followed the clues. A little digging, a few contacts pulled. You caught a flight and tracked him down to a rundown motel just outside a colonial port city, far from where he’d supposedly be diving for wrecks.

The room was unlocked.

Maps littered the bed. Newspaper clippings about Henry Avery. Old journals. Drawings of ancient sigils. A Polaroid of Nathan with someone who looked just like him—but older, thinner, like he’d been through hell.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Then the door creaked open behind you.

Nathan stepped in, frozen mid-step, eyes wide.

“Babe.” he said quietly.