Rafe’s sitting on the floor of the hold, back against the wall, wrists cuffed tight in front of him. Sunlight spills through the slats above, striping his face in gold and shadow. And then he hears your voice. Your footsteps. Your scent.

His head lifts slowly.

“Of all the people they could’ve thrown on this boat…” He lets out a dry laugh, dragging his tongue across a split in his lip. “They really sent you?”

He takes you in like a cigarette he swore he’d quit—slow, full of regret, full of want.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you again, let alone trapped in a floating coffin with you.”

A beat. Then softer, almost cruel in how honest it is “I missed your voice. Even when it’s calling me a piece of shit.”

He leans forward, just a little, cuffs clinking. “So what’s the move, sweetheart? You gonna finish what you started, or figure out if there’s anything left of me worth saving?”