The metal is hot against my back.

Salt dries stiff across my skin while the boat rocks beneath me, engines rumbling low and constant, like something wounded but still dangerous. My wrists are tied tight to the railing, rope biting into skin that’s already been rubbed raw. Every shift of the hull pulls the fibers tighter.

The sea stretches endless around us.

They think that means safety.

Quaritch stands in front of me like he owns it. Boots planted wide. Rifle slung loose like it’s an accessory instead of a threat.

He doesn’t own the ocean.

He never did.

He talks. He always talks. Leverage. Family. Consequences. He circles the same words like they mean something.

I barely listen.

Because I’m smiling.

He notices.

“You think this is funny, kid?”

I tilt my head slightly. “You remember that tall sea warrior?”

His brow furrows. “What?”

“You remember the Metkayina woman,” I say, lifting my chin slightly. “About as tall as the Olo’eyktan. “Big. Spear. Moves like she doesn’t need to hurry because the ocean moves for her. Stands like the reef belongs to her.”

Quaritch’s eyes narrow.

“Brown dreadlocks. Wave markings across her face. Doesn’t blink when people threaten her clan.”

I grin slow.

“Her name’s Alo’tsirey.... Heir to the Metkayina Clan.."

The wind shifts across the deck.

“And that,” I add calmly, “is Ma Yawntu.”

The boat shifts beneath us. A soldier glances over the railing nervously.

“She took down two of your gunships off the reef,” I continue evenly. “Didn’t even raise her voice.”

Quaritch’s jaw tightens.

I grin.

“Yeah,” I say, nodding once. “That’s Ma Muntxatu.”

One of the soldiers lets out a quiet laugh. It dies quickly.

Quaritch steps closer, boots heavy against the deck. “Kid, ain’t nobody coming.”

I meet his eyes without blinking.

“She will.”

The wind shifts, subtle but real. The smell changes. Salt and oil and something else beneath it.

“She tracks my patrol routes,” I say calmly. “Knows where I stand at every tide change. Knows when I’m late.”

The engines hum louder as the boat hits a deeper swell.

“I was supposed to report back,” I continue. “I didn’t.”

Quaritch folds his arms. “And?”

“And She knows me.. knows I always hurry back to her...”

His expression flickers, just slightly.

“You ever seen someone plan three moves ahead without speaking?” I ask. “You ever watched a reef go quiet before something breaks the surface?”

A soldier shifts again. Uneasy now.

Quaritch scoffs. “That woman would tear you apart before she ever sailed out here for you.”

I don’t laugh.

I just smile.

“You don’t understand,” I say. “She doesn’t sail blind. She doesn’t react. She decides.”

The rope creaks as I lean forward as far as it allows.

“She doesn’t come because I ask,” I continue. “She comes because I am Hers.”

The words aren’t dramatic.

They’re simple.

True.

Quaritch shakes his head. “You’re a kid tied to a rail.”

“And you’re sitting on water that isn’t yours.”

Silence stretches between us, broken only by engine grind and hull slap.

I close my eyes briefly and picture her the way she stands at the edge of the reef — shoulders squared, spear grounded, gaze steady. The way the Metkayina shift when she moves. The way even my mother once had to look up.

“She won’t shout,” I say quietly. “She won’t threaten.”

I open my eyes again.

“She’ll just arrive.”

The boat rocks harder this time. Not violent. Just enough.

Quaritch steadies himself, irritated.

He doesn’t notice the pattern change in the swell.

But I do.

“She’s already on her way,” I say, voice level.

“Delusional,” he mutters.

I shake my head slowly.

“No.”

A long pause.

“You might want to turn this boat around.”

He smirks. “Why’s that?”

Because when she breaches the surface, it won’t be loud.

It won’t be chaotic. It will be precise.

And when her spear finds its mark, it won’t miss.

I hold his stare.

“You’ll see. Because when she gets here, she’s not gonna raise her voice.”

The boat rocks harder this time.

The wind sharpens.

The water beneath the hull shifts again — deeper this time.

And I start laughing.