Page 22 of Vengeance of the Pirate Queen

I know how to recognize people by their shapes and the padding of their feet. It’s a survival skill I developed at an early age.

Which is why I know with certainty that Kearan arrives in the galley alone.

My mind races with possibilities. Is he here to get into the rum where no one can see? Was the sobriety all a ruse? Or is he here to eat more than his share of the food? Or … what else? I didn’t peg him as one to poison the crew or anything else, but—

He doesn’t go for the locked pantry in the back. No, he sits on one of the benches nailed to the floor, rests his elbows on his lap, and leans forward.

After a few beats of immobility, he turns his head right in my direction. I don’t move, certain he can’t possibly see me in the darkness.

“Thought you might like some company,” he says.

When I say nothing in response, entertaining the notion that he’s added sleepwalking to sleep talking, he asks, “Captain?”

My heart beats a rapid rhythm, though I am not afraid. Merely irritated.

How did he see me?

“When have I ever given the impression that I want your company?” I ask.

He turns his gaze down to his lap. “Don’t you ever get bored all alone in the dark?”

“No.”

“You like your thinking time?”

“No.”

Definitely not that. I loathe reminiscing about myself or my past. My entire family was murdered before my eyes, and I have spent over a decade trying to forget those memories.

“Then what?” he asks.

“None of your business. How did you know I was in here?”

“I didn’t see you go into your quarters for the night.”

“You’re watching me?”

“Just observant, Captain.”

Liar. “That still doesn’t explain how you knew I was inhere.”

He shrugs. “I saw you.”

“You couldn’t have.”

“Don’t worry,” he says. “The rest of the crew haven’t a clue that you spy on them. I only found you now because I was looking for you.”

“Why?”

He shrugs as though he thinks the question trivial.

It is anything but. I want to snap at him for making a habit of watching me, but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction. Doing anything other than responding to him with my usual tone would only please him.

So I remain silent. It’s what I’m best at.

Except, instead of relishing in the quiet as I usually do, there’s a buzzing in my head. Something grating and irritating. It takes me far too long to realize the silence is making me uncomfortable.

Youcan’tbeafraidofthedarkwhenyou’rethemonsterlurkingintheshadows.

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