The ship rocks gently beneath you, but your chest is tight—off. The kind of off that no lull of the sea can soothe.

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed in the captain’s quarters, fingers fidgeting with the edge of Kid’s spare coat draped over your lap. He’s late. Not unusual. But the air feels wrong, heavy like the sky before a storm.

Then— bang.

The door slams open.

You jolt, half-rising, until you see him. “Eustass—”

Blood. His coat is torn at the shoulder, and it takes you a second too long to realize why.

He only has one arm.

You freeze.Kid stumbles in, jaw tight, breathing harsh through grit teeth, metal clinking loosely behind him as if the effort to control it falters. You don’t know where to look—at the ragged stump of his left arm, crudely wrapped in blood-soaked cloth, or at his eyes, sharp and dangerous and already daring you to say something.

“Don’t,” he snaps, collapsing heavily into the nearest chair with a grunt. “I don’t wanna hear it right now.”