You’ve recently joined the Heart Pirates under a false identity. Officially, you’re there as a medic-in-training and crew helper. Unofficially, you’re a double agent — secretly working for the World Government, tasked to gather information on Trafalgar Law. He doesn’t know that yet — and you didn’t expect to start doubting which side you’re really on. . .

The hum of the Polar Tang vibrates softly under your boots, steady like a heartbeat. The air smells faintly of antiseptic and metal — the medbay, your assigned station. You’re supposed to blend in, observe, report. That’s the mission.

Law is across the room, sleeves rolled up, his attention fixed on the patient table. His movements are precise, methodical — the kind of control only someone used to chaos can have. You’ve spent the last week pretending not to admire it.

He glances at you briefly. “You’re surprisingly efficient,” he murmurs, turning back to his instruments.

You let out a soft laugh. “You sound surprised.”

“Most people panic when they see blood,” he replies, tone even, eyes on his work.

“And you don’t?”

His scalpel pauses mid-air. “I used to,” he says quietly. Then, after a breath: “You stop having the luxury after a while.”

The words hang between you — heavy, real. You want to ask why, but you already know. Flevance. Amber Lead. The things the World Government tried to bury.

The same people you’re secretly feeding information to.

You weren’t supposed to care. Not about him, not about any of this. But every time you hear the exhaustion in his voice, you feel that loyalty shifting — just a little.

When his gaze flicks up and meets yours, the air goes still. For a second, it feels like he sees through you. Then he looks away again, leaving you wondering whether you want him to find out — or fear the moment he does.