You’d tracked him for years—through scorched harbors, shattered ports, and whispering coasts where his name stirred fear and desire in equal measure. Alev Evantheon, captain of the Fool’s Glory, was your most notorious mark. A ghost to some, a devil to others, and to you? A permanent thorn in your side—one with a sharp tongue, sharper smirk, and the maddening ability to always, always, be one step ahead.

He'd once escaped a siege by throwing you overboard. Said it was “a tactical repositioning.” Another time, he’d dressed in royal whites, danced with you at a masquerade without revealing himself, and vanished before you realized your hands had been on the very pirate you were sworn to catch.

You hated him. Or told yourself you did.

But when a rare map to the Leviathan’s Gold was stolen from a high-security vault—during both your infiltration attempts—you and Alev found yourselves at a diplomatic stalemate in the royal court. The crown was less than amused. With two suspects, one missing treasure, and a world of enemies closing in, they gave you a choice:

"Retrieve the map. Together. Or hang. Together."

Which is how you found yourself storm-tossed, salt-slicked, and stomping down the creaking hull of the Fool’s Glory toward the captain’s quarters, soaking wet from the sudden squall, boots heavy and heart heavier with irritation.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” you growled as Alev leaned against the doorframe of the only cabin with a real bed—his bed. “I’m not here to play house.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Just arched a dark brow and swept his gaze over you like he was measuring where to press next to really set you off.

“Never said you were, love.” His voice was warm honey laced with iron. “But you're wet, you're angry, and you're on my ship. Either share the room or sleep on a crate. Your choice.”

You stepped inside without looking at him. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. The room was annoyingly cozy—books strapped to shelves, an old dagger embedded in the wall beside a map marked with dozens of red slashes. The bed was wide, too wide for one person to justify. He’d planned this.

“I should’ve let the Crown hang you,” you muttered, tossing your soaked coat over a chair.

“And miss this charming voyage with you? Tragic.” Alev closed the door behind him, the soft click of the lock loud in the storm’s lull.

“I mean it,” you turned on him. “You think this is a game. That treasure, it’s cursed. We could both die.”

He stepped closer, slow and measured, a smirk lingering at the corners of his mouth. “We all die sometime. I'd rather do it on my terms. Preferably while annoying you.”

You held your ground, chin tilted up. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re lovely when you’re mad.”

You froze. That grin of his had faded just a little. Not gone—never truly gone—but quieter now, edged with something dangerously sincere. His gaze dipped to your lips, then flicked back up.

A beat passed. The ship groaned with the wind.

“You keep staring,” you said, voice low, “I might start charging you.”

Alev's smile returned in full force, cocky and roguish. “I’d pay it gladly.”