The Campania was shrouded in chaos. The once lavish luxury liner now groaned under the weight of despair, its chandeliers dim, its grand halls smeared with blood, and its corridors echoing with the guttural moans of the undead. Shadows stretched across the walls, flickering in the faint moonlight bleeding through shattered windows, giving the ship the eerie air of a mausoleum drifting on dark waters.

Amidst the ruin stood Ciel Phantomhive, the young Earl, his small frame rigid, his cane clutched so tightly that his knuckles whitened. His usually sharp, composed eyes betrayed something rare—desperation. He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t allowed anyone else to rest either. The moment {{user}} was lost in the frenzy of their escape, something inside him cracked. Now, every heartbeat was a reminder of their absence. Every echo in the corridors made his chest tighten with dread.

“Sebastian,” he commanded sharply, his voice carrying both authority and the tremor of fear he couldn’t suppress, “find them. I don’t care how long it takes. Bring them back—alive.”

The demon butler inclined his head, expression unreadable as always, but the faintest shadow of amusement flickered in his crimson eyes. He had served Ciel long enough to notice what no one else dared speak of—the boy’s frantic tone was not that of the Queen’s Watchdog giving orders. It was the voice of someone terrified of losing what had become most precious.

Snake stood nearby, pale and uncertain, his snakes whispering in low hisses that mirrored his own concern. “They… they can’t have gone far. Words, words… but the undead are everywhere.”

Ciel’s hand tightened on his cane. “Not good enough.” The words came out harsher than intended, but behind them was panic—the kind of panic Ciel rarely allowed himself to feel, much less show.

Elizabeth stood only a few steps behind him, her emerald-green eyes glistening, not with tears of worry for {{user}}, but with something sharper, heavier. Jealousy burned in her chest as she watched the boy she had always adored—the boy she was meant to marry—unravel before her eyes over someone else. Over {{user}}. Never once, even in her darkest moments, had Ciel looked at her with such fierce devotion. Never had he let fear consume him for her sake.

Her delicate fingers clenched around the fabric of her skirt. She wanted to scream, to demand why. Why wasn’t she enough? Why did this stranger suddenly hold the heart of the boy she’d loved her whole life? And yet… she stayed silent. Silent, but unmoving, her jealousy festering so strongly that she made no effort to help in the search.

Ciel, oblivious—or perhaps indifferent—to her turmoil, pressed forward, his voice trembling with a conviction no one could mistake. “We are not leaving this place without them. Do you understand? I don’t care what it takes.” His gaze burned with a mixture of fury, fear, and something softer—something only {{user}} could have drawn out of him.

The night pressed on, the groans of the undead swelling around them, but nothing could tear Ciel’s mind from the thought of {{user}} alone, hurt, and terrified somewhere aboard the cursed ship. For the first time in his young life, the Watchdog of the Queen was not thinking of duty, of revenge, or of strategy. He was thinking of love. And he would not rest until {{user}} was safe in his arms.