"Damn it!" Jacques bellowed out, rubbing his temple as he paced back and forth. "What's wrong with me?"

His steps intensified on the floorboards with the last ounce of sunlight seeping beneath the simmering ocean. His thoughts swarmed like a gust of wind sweeping the waves, forming a massive typhoon.

Picking up his pace, Jacques strutted to his captain's quarters, determined to atone for his poor actions towards Belle. Without speaking, he abandoned Arieshell, Gus, and Jeeves to their chatter. As he made his way, Jacques glimpsed Eda and Léa hauling a heavy metal cauldron from the lower bunker of Sparrow, while Quinton mopped.

His hand gripped the worn wooden handle of the mop with steady hands, feeling the slight roughness of the cotton strands soaking up the murky water from the cracked wooden floorboards. His back arched slightly from bending, but the mop's long handle eased the strain, allowing him to reach beneath sturdy furniture and into forgotten corners.

Each pass left the floor gleaming, the scent of lemon oil mingling with the cool, damp air. He paused briefly, smiling at Jacques's passing glance.

"Be careful with your wooden leg. We don't want it to rot," Jacque called out, lingering in the air.

Quinion saluted before resuming his work. As the moon cast its silvery glow through the swirling mists, Jacques approached his door, which shielded Belle from the outside. Jacques stood stiff as a brick, contemplating whether he should leave her alone or have a heart-to-heart.

The excruciating pounding in his chest was almost too much for him to bear. A lump caught in his throat and almost suffocated him completely. The guilt dripped over, seeping into his veins, and squashed his existence, pulling him into the desolate cracks within.

He sighed. It's only an apology, nothing more. Jacques knocked against the wooden door, awaiting a response. A small breeze brushed against his cheeks, greeting him with a brusque reminder of the crisp ambiance streaming in from the night.

A subtle sound of Belle's movement stirred his body, seizing every fiber of his being. What seemed like an everlasting storm became hushed. One creak of the door snapped Jacques into Belle's swollen, puffy, and red eyes.

"Did I-I-"

"No," Belle replied, wiping a tear from her face. "The tears weren't from you. Is there something you need?"

Jacques fiddled with his thumbs as he glanced back at the others talking and then at Belle."Dinner will be ready shortly. However, I wanted to speak to you about what happened earlier."

Her lips pursed, nabbing his soul. "Jacques... It's..."

"Here," he grasped her arm. "Let's go inside. You'll be more comfortable."

Jacques entered, securing the door firmly. He waved for Belle to sit while he walked around the small wooden desk decorated with a red and gold tablecloth. With one big scoot of his chair, he raised his arms and clapped his hands together.

"I failed you," he stated. "I should have been more vigilant toward your boundaries."

"Jacques-"

"Please let me finish," he interrupted. "When you explained your bond with William, I must admit, I didn't take it seriously."

She nodded, her body poised yet tense. Her eyes flicked around the room, settling on Jacques's hand and meeting his gaze.

Belle exhaled. "I'm afraid that's what everyone else says."

Jacques cocked his head, his eyebrows raised. "W-who are you referring to?"

A heavy burden consumed Jacques as the regret stung him. His heartstrings yanked at his core, leaving Jacques paralyzed, staring into his cousin's silent, pleading eyes. His fingers trembled, desperately clawing at one another, with only the flickering candlelight offering the slightest movement in the otherwise still room, a poignant reminder of his hopelessness.

Say something.

Belle's lips quivered. Her top lip bit her bottom as the air lay thick with tension and apprehension. Jacques waited, allowing the silence to linger, veiling them like a weighted blanket.

"Father, Henry, and your mother..." Her voice paused, sending shivers down Jacques's spine.

Jacques's shoulders sprang up. He never thought he would mention or speak to his mother. Maybe what happened to his father was the reason, but the result carried a profound sentiment Jacques deeply cherished.

"H-How was she?... My mother?"

Jacques observed intently as the vibrant color faded from her once-flushed cheeks, leaving a stark pallor that spoke volumes. Belle swallowed hard, a wave of sorrow threatening to escape her lips.

"Have you spoken with your mother? Ever?"

"Not since the welcome home party she organized for you. Why?" he replied.

"I hesitate to speak of such delicate matters, but there have been troubling whispers concerning your mother's interactions with her maid, Asia."

Jacques caught Belle's flushed gaze as she quickly averted her gaze. Another lump caught in his throat. His fingers dug into the skin of his knuckles. So, it was true. It felt like his world had crashed in on him. Whether her husband had been made aware of her blasphemous affairs, Jacques didn't know. What mattered was Belle's stay there. Her ghostly appearance gave him a clear indication of the circumstances of his mother's pending fate in her marriage.

"You have carried that weight," he said gently. "My mother's neglected estate has affected you. She must have shown you such disrespect."

"T-that's not all..." Her voice wavered as she tried to explain, tears threatening to spill over. "F-Frank..."

Without hesitating, Jacques stumbled over toward Belle's seat. His knees slammed to the ground with a grand thud as his hands held her by her shoulders. "Frank, what? Tell me!

Her voice trembled as she sniffed, "I thought he was being nice. But it turns out, Jacques... it wasn't just kindness. Frank had other intentions."

Jacques's expression hardened, disbelief washing over him. "What do you mean? How could he...?"

Belle's eyes filled with tears, and she looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "First, it felt like friendship, but then he started crossing lines. He would corner me when your mother wasn't around, whisper things that made me uncomfortable... it escalated so quickly.

Jacques's grip on her shoulders tightened, his heart pounding in anger and concern. "Did he hurt you? Did you say anything to my mother?

"No!" Belle's voice was panicked. "I couldn't! I was terrified she wouldn't believe me, or worse, that she would think I was lying. But I felt so trapped. I didn't know who to turn to."

In that moment, Jacques felt a surge of protectiveness. "And you couldn't tell William. You didn't have anyone to express your feelings to. No one."

Belle finally met his gaze, and for the first time, she saw a flicker of hope amidst her despair. "I... I wrote to him about it... But... We all knew he couldn't read the letters." Her voice croaked.

Jacques's mouth failed to speak. His hands trembled as tears emerged, trickling down his cheeks, and his heart raced like he had never felt before.

Disgusted, yet thankful to himself, he had uncovered Belle's traumatic experience. On the other hand, mentioning his mother brought bright Belle to tears, just like when she took off William's jacket.

Jacques pulled back slightly, his hands still resting lightly on Belle's shoulders. He searched her eyes, feeling the weight of her pain. "Belle," he said softly, "What do you think William would do if he heard about Frank's actions toward you?"

Belle's gaze dropped, her brow furrowing as she considered the question. "I... I don't know," she whispered, her voice trembling. "William has always cared for me, but I can't imagine him knowing... It would break him."

Jacques felt a surge of protective anger for both Belle and William. "But don't you think he deserves to know? He would want to help you, to stand by your side."

Belle wiped her tears, shaking her head. "I just don't want to put him in a difficult position. He'd want to confront Frank, and I can't bear the thought of that. I don't want to be the cause of conflict."

Jacques took a deep breath, trying to steady his emotions. "Belle, you're not the one causing the conflict. Frank's actions are what created this situation. You deserve to have your voice heard, to have someone stand up for you."

She looked up at him, doubt etched on her face. "But what if it makes things worse? What if it changes everything?"

"It will change everything," Jacques replied firmly, his resolve unwavering. "But sometimes, change is necessary. William cares about you, and he deserves to know the truth. You shouldn't carry this burden alone."

Belle searched his gaze, the flicker of hope returning as she considered his words. "You think he would stand by me?"

"I know he would," Jacques insisted. "And I will be here with you every step of the way."

She nodded slowly, a mixture of fear and determination stirring within her. "Okay, Jacques. I'll try. For William."

"You will find William. We will find William together."

"Thank you."

A knock interrupted their silent hug.

"Jacques, Belle? Dinner's ready!" exclaimed Arieshell.

"We'll be right there!" Jacques hollered.

Later in the evening, Jacques slouched in his chair with his eyes hovering over the sprawled map displayed on his desk. With a low sigh, Jacques stood frozen, his heart heavy with the weight of Belle's revelation.

The conversation about his mother was painful, but it was nothing compared to what was unfolding outside his cluttered cabin—mystery and darkness intertwined with memories best left buried.

He had to focus. "Enough about that," he said, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. "We need to investigate the path for Africa, and the hidden cargo, before I can let myself think about the past."

Belle's interest piqued as she shifted in her chair. "Hidden cargo? What do you mean?"

"Arieshell and the crew found something... something that suggests there's more to my father's disappearance than we initially thought."

Jacques took a step forward, determined. "A cryptic message, a map... numerous encrypted letters. They imply a conspiracy surrounding my father."

"Conspiracy?" Belle leaned closer, intrigue taking over the sorrow of the moment.

"Yes," Jacques continued, pacing again. "As the pieces come together, I can't shake the feeling that Arieshell's family may have been involved. It's unsettling, to say the least. I care for her, but... if her family is tied to this, what does that mean for us?"

Belle nodded slowly, her expression understanding, yet concerned. "You need to confront them."

Jacques sighed, torn. "Confronting their actions could create an even wider gap between us. Given Gus's recent odd behavior, I'm uncertain how the crew will respond. His loyalty seems to be in doubt as he continues to isolate himself more each day."

"There's unrest in the air. I can feel it." Belle's voice held a weight, a seriousness that matched the growing tension.

"Gus has been acting differently since we went to that asylum. You might need to—"

"Trust no one," Jacques finished for her, the gravel in his voice unmistakable. As if sensing the shift in his demeanor, Belle's eyes widened.

"Jacques..."

"I don't want to suspect anyone, even someone like Gus, but this—this-this is bigger than ourselves. We're dealing with shadows that reach far beyond the horizon." He paused, allowing the gravity of his words to sink in. "We will confront Arieshell tonight. No more playing around."

"Confront her?" Belle's eyes widened. "Jacques, I understand she's a siren, but-"

"Not a siren! A Siren Goddess. She could be the same one from the stories the old captain told me when I was a young lad."

"Those were stories, Jacques. How could she be a part of those?"

"The Siren Goddess and the Waves."

As they sat beneath the blanket of stars, the soft sound of waves mingling with the night air, Jacques turned to Belle, the moonlight shimmering in his deep-set eyes.

"Do you believe in tales of the sea?" he asked, his voice low and inviting, drawing her in.

Belle nodded, her curiosity piqued. "Tell me one."

Jacques leaned back, his gaze drifting to the horizon. "There's a legend about the Siren Goddess, beautiful and enchanting. She had a voice that could command the waves and weather, luring sailors to safety with sweet melodies. With a single note, she could calm the fiercest storm."

"Sounds magical," Belle mused, her excitement evident.

"But one fateful night," Jacques continued, "a marauding crew sailed close to her waters, desperate and reckless. In their frenzy, they tossed a bottle of rum into the sea, hoping to appease the spirits. But instead, the Siren, enchanted by the alluring scent, swam to the shore, believing it to be a gift." He paused for a moment, gauging Belle's reaction.

She was enthralled, hanging onto every word.

"The moment she took a sip, she felt a change," he said, his tone darkening. "The magic of the rum wove its spell around her, and her voice slipped from her forever. Now, she can't control the waves; instead, they rage without her guidance. The sea became her prison, and her once-sweet songs turned into echoes of despair."

Belle's eyes widened. "So that's why we sometimes hear singing during storms?"

Jacques nodded. "Yes, those are her whispers, trapped and longing for release. The sailors who hear her voice are drawn to her sorrow, forever lost in the depths of the sea."

As the weight of the story settled between them, Belle looked out at the water, feeling a profound connection to the legends of the ocean.

"It's a tragic tale," she whispered. Jacques smiled gently, "Just like the sea, it holds beauty and danger—sometimes intertwined."

The two sat in silence, the rhythmic crash of the waves underscoring the weight of the Siren's story, forever etched in the fabric of the night.

"What's your plan about Gus and Arieshell? I hope you won't be resentful."

"I have to do what I must."

"Promise me, something."

"Anything."

"Please don't confront Arieshell. At least, not now. All I want is to find William."

He held her close. "As you wish."

Jacques paced the cramped quarters, the tension coiling tightly in his chest. He had summoned Gus back to him, as a sense of betrayal rose in him. Gus wandered, snagging glances at the ceiling. Jacques's patience wore thin.

"Gus!" Jacques snapped, frustration boiling over. "Can you focus for one moment?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm here," Gus replied, trying to shake off the distracted air. "What's going on? You seem on edge."

Jacques shot him a glare, the anger bubbling up like hot lava. "You don't even know half of it. I need you to read something—something important."

He dug through his garments, finally pulling out the crumpled letter that had been found in the hidden cargo. Gus eyed the worn parchment as if it were a live grenade.

"What's this?"

"It's a letter from my father," Jacques snapped, thrusting it into Gus's hands. "About my mother—the separation. Just read it."

Gus hesitated, glancing warily at Jacques. "Are you sure you want me to do this?"

"Just read!" Jacques's voice thundered in the cramped room. With a reluctant sigh, Gus unfolded the letter, his brow furrowing as he began to read aloud.

"'My dearest Jacques,'" he started, his voice wavering slightly at the weight of the words. "'If you are reading this, then the uncertainty of my absence has become a reality.'"

Jacques clenched his fists, the familiar sting of betrayal piercing through him. He could feel the walls closing in, memories flooding back unbidden.

"'Your mother and I have suffered irreconcilable differences, and she has taken actions I cannot condone...'" Gus continued, the weight of the words making the air heavy.

Jacques could hear the quiver in Gus's voice and sense the atmosphere shift. He was losing control, crackling with anger radiating from him in waves.

"Keep going," Jacques urged tersely. Gus obliged, his vision darting across the letter.

"'It is with deep regret that I must inform you of her decision to have me... falsely committed to Springs Grove Asylum because of an argument over who would take you into their care."

The statement slammed into Jacques like a rogue wave, and he felt his heart plummet. "False commitment," he echoed, barely able to breathe.

"She made it out like he was the one who lost his mind!"

"'She claimed it was for your sake, to protect you from the turmoil between us...'" Gus continued, faltering as he read. Jacques could hardly contain himself any longer.

"Protect me?" he seethed, struggling to contain the tempest within. "She threw him to the dogs, and she dares to claim it was for my sake!"

"Jacques, wait—"

"Wait for what?" Jacques exploded, his voice raw and filled with pent-up rage. "For me to be okay with this? For me to sit here and feel sorry for the woman who ruined my father's life? For the woman who lied and had him put away because she didn't want to deal with her own choices?"

Gus shifted uneasily, hesitating before proceeding. "You know this is about more than just her. People make decisions that—"

"Decisions?!" Jacques spat, his face flushed with frustration. "She destroyed not just his life but mine too! This family is broken because of her selfishness, and now you want to tell me to understand her? You had to have known about this! Why did you keep this from me?"

Gus's eyes widened, the letter trembling slightly in his hands. "I was trying to protect you, too."

"Protect me?" Jacques shot back, his voice thick with bitterness. "You're not the one who lived it. You don't carry the weight of her choices, the weight of seeing your family broken and battered while all she did was waltz out scot-free!"

"Jacques!" Gus shouted, finally rising to meet his anger. "Stop for a moment! You're hurting yourself by holding onto this rage. You need to face it, not just scream into the void!"

The sharpness of Gus's words cut through Jacques's blind fury, and he suddenly felt exposed, the tempest within him stilled by realization.

"I... I don't know how," he muttered, his voice faltering. Gus stepped closer, the anger in his eyes replaced with understanding.

"You don't have to hold this pain. Just don't keep burying it. It's toxic, Jacques."

Slowly, Jacques lifted a trembling hand, cradling the letter as if it were a fragile thread that could unravel everything. He took a breath, steadying himself against the tide of emotions that threatened to consume him. Perhaps Gus was right—perhaps facing the truth of his mother's betrayal was the only way he could begin to reclaim what had been stolen from him.

"Okay," he whispered, his voice barely carrying.

As he sat down, Gus lowered beside him, a silent presence offering support. With trembling hands, Jacques unfolded the letter once more, determined to confront the shadows that had long haunted his family's history, one line at a time, with Gus beside him.