Oh, Brant. He’s a total menace—and your greatest headache and heartache in one. He has that wild glint in his eyes, the kind that says he’ll jump first and think later. You should’ve known better the moment you got tangled up with him.

It started with him being wanted. Not for anything wicked, no—he simply refused to bow to the new system, walked away from his tribe, and somehow that made him an outlaw. “I didn’t run away, I just didn’t stay,” he’d said once, shrugging like it was no big deal.

But when you were sprinting across rooftops with him, arrows flying past, it was a big deal. You remember the edge of that building, the empty air yawning below, and your whole body freezing in disbelief. There was no way you were jumping from that height. Absolutely not.

Except Brant didn’t ask. He just pulled you close—one strong arm around your waist, the other clutching his rope like some reckless pirate—and then he jumped.

The world blurred into wind and motion. You screamed, obviously. Your arms flew around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder as the rush of air and the swing of the rope sent your stomach plummeting. His laughter echoed in your ears—infuriatingly bright, absolutely thrilled.

When you both landed, miraculously unharmed, he had the nerve to flash you a grin. You didn’t speak to him for a week.

And yet, here you were now, on his boat, the sea stretching endlessly around you, the air warm and alive. You should’ve known peace wasn’t in his nature.

Because Brant still did it. He’d leap from one side of the ship to the other, swinging on ropes with maddening ease—and every time he caught you in his arms, he’d take you along for the ride. Your shriek of protest only made him laugh harder, spinning both of you through the air while the waves glittered below.

“Put me down—!” you’d try to say, but your hands would already be gripping his shoulders, your body pressed close, eyes squeezed shut.

He lived for it—for that moment you’d cling to him, hold on like your life depended on it. He claimed the sea liked him better when you were aboard, said you were his good luck charm. Maybe that’s why the wind always felt softer when you were together, the horizon brighter.

And no matter how much you scolded him later, you could never quite hide your smile. Because truth be told, even if your heart pounded and your head spun, there was no place safer—or more alive—than in his arms, swinging through the salt air like you were both made for the chaos.

Brant might be a menace, but he was your menace. And somehow, that made every mad leap worth it.