The morning sun spread across the deck of the Sparrow in soft gold, warming the damp wood beneath their boots. A hush clung to the ship, broken only by the creak of rigging and the gulls crying overhead. Jacques stood near the helm, shoulders squared, eyes scanning the horizon before turning to face his crew. The sea was calm today, but he knew danger still stirred beneath its surface.

"Everyone," Jacques called, voice carrying across the deck with quiet command, "Gather round. We have priorities to set right."

The crew filtered in steadily. Caspian was the first to show up, wiping grease from his fingers with a cloth scrap, his usual smirk gone. Quinton came next, arms crossed and eyes sharp as flint. Erasmus appeared from below deck, faintly carrying the scent of ink and parchment. Eda joined with her red hair tied back, exuding fresh determination, while Léa approached the circle's edge like a gentle breeze, her calming presence anchoring the atmosphere around her.

And at Jacques's side stood Arieshell—silent, steady, her presence lending him the strength he needed for what came next.

The crew formed a rough circle, a collection of sailors bound by salt, survival, and shared secrets. Jacques looked at each of them.

"I know we've been through hell," he began. "More than one kind, and not all of it from outside forces."

He paused, letting the words sink in.

"There have been secrets between us. Choices made in the shadows. I've made some of them myself." His voice didn't waver, though the truth was bitter in his throat. "But that ends now."

Caspian raised an eyebrow, lips twitching with curiosity. "So, you're saying no more surprises? That'd be a first."

Jacques met his gaze evenly. "I'm saying we can't afford any more. Not if we're to survive what's ahead—and find William."

Belle stood off to the side, arms wrapped tightly around herself, but her eyes lifted at the sound of her best friend's name.

Jacques went on. "If any of you know something—anything—that could affect the crew, it gets shared. No more withholding. No more games. Secrets nearly cost us everything."

There was a long silence.

Quinton gave a slow nod. "Aye. Agreed."

Erasmus murmured, "Knowledge kept too long turns poisonous."

"Count me in," said Eda, fierce and without hesitation. "I don't want to see any of you fall because we were in the dark."

Léa looked to Belle, then to Jacques. "Trust is a root that grows best in open light."

Jacques breathed easier as each sailor nodded. Even Caspian raised two fingers in a mock salute.

"Fine," he said, a grin beginning to return to his face. "But if I'm telling the truth from now on, someone's gonna have to keep me from talking too much."

A few smiles broke the tension, and Jacques allowed them. The weight in his chest lessened—not gone, but lighter. There was more to do, much more, but this was the first correct step.

Arieshell's voice was soft beside him. "We start fresh. From here."

Jacques nodded once, firmly. "Then let's begin."

The breeze caught the sails overhead, snapping them gently, like a reminder of the voyage ahead. But Jacques kept his feet planted on the deck, facing the circle of weary but willing faces. His crew—his family, in so many unspoken ways stood silent in the golden morning light, waiting for him to continue.

He took a breath, then stepped forward. "This ship, this crew—we survive because we trust one another. But lately..." he let the words trail off, letting the memory of recent betrayals speak louder than he could. "Something has shaken that trust."

Arieshell's fingers brushed lightly against his. It was just enough to ground him, to remind him he wasn't alone in this. He continued, voice low but strong.

"Secrets about who we are. Where do we come from? What we've done. They've been eating away at us. Some of us—myself included—thought we were protecting the others by staying silent. But it's clear now that silence isn't safety. It's isolation."

Erasmus shifted, the leather of his vest creaking softly. "Knowledge must flow like the tide," he murmured. "Or it stagnates, breeds rot."

Jacques nodded. "Exactly. So we establish a pact. From here on out, nothing stays hidden. If you know something about an enemy, a danger, a dream, a fear, you speak it. No matter how small it seems."

He let the words settle, watching as they each processed them in their way.

Léa stepped forward first. Her deep green eyes searched the circle before settling on Jacques. "I'll speak the truth. Even when it hurts. Even when it scares me."

Eda's red hair flared as she nodded. "Count me in. I've got nothing to hide—and I don't want anyone thinking they have to."

Caspian gave an exaggerated sigh. "You're all taking the fun out of being mysterious, you know that?" But then his smile softened. "Alright, alright. I swear. No more secrets from me. Not even the embarrassing ones."

"Especially the embarrassing ones," Eda quipped.

A chuckle rippled through the group, and for the first time in days, the tension felt like it had cracked open. Jacques felt something new stirring among them—relief.

Quintin's voice cut through the levity. "I'll keep to the pact," he said simply. "But if any of you start lying again, there will be consequences. I'm warning you now, I walk."

It wasn't a threat, but a promise, simple and true, its weight palpable in the silence.

Jacques met his eye. "Fair enough. But I'll do everything I can to make sure you don't have to."

Erasmus gave a thoughtful nod. "Then let this be a pact not sealed by blood, but by truth. Spoken freely, without judgment."

Jacques drew his blade, holding it up—not as a threat, but as a symbol. "No oaths today. Just our word. If that's not enough, then we have bigger problems."

Each sailor placed a hand over their chest, silently agreeing.

Belle stepped forward at last. Tiredness and longing rimmed her eyes. "Thank you," she breathed. "For being willing to fight for each other. And for him."

Jacques turned to her, the group instinctively tightening into a protective circle around her. Her next words drew them closer still.

"William didn't just go looking for cacao beans," she said, voice steady despite the tremble beneath. "He was chasing a dream. He wanted to make something beautiful. Something sweet enough to change lives. I think... I think someone used that dream to lure him away."

Her voice cracked, but she pushed through. "I don't know where he is now, but I know he wouldn't stop looking until he found what he was after. And he would've left signs. He's clever like that."

Jacques watched her closely. There was fire behind her pain. Determination forged in friendship.

"Then that's where we start," he said. "We follow William's trail. Port by port. Word by word."

"And chocolate by chocolate?" Caspian asked, raising an eyebrow.

Belle smiled. "If it gets us closer to him? Yes."

Jacques turned back to the group. "Let's make a plan. We'll cover more ground if we split into small teams, check the local ports, and ask discreet questions. No stirring up trouble unless we have to. We blend in."

"I can speak to the fish in the harbor," Arieshell offered quietly. "They see more than people think. If he left by ship, they'll know."

"That's brilliant," Erasmus murmured.

Jacques nodded. "Erasmus Léa—work together to identify the trade routes William might've followed. He would've needed to pass through cacao-rich regions."

Eda's hand shot up. "Put me with Caspian. We'll hit the taverns. If there's talk to be heard, we'll find it."

Caspian flashed a grin. "Spreading charm and mischief wherever we go."

"And I'll go with Belle," Jacques added. "We'll check the ports and see if we can find any shipping manifests or cargo lists that mention cacao."

Quinton nodded, arms crossed. "I'll stay with the ship. Watch the tide and keep the Sparrow ready in case we need to move—fast."

"Good," Jacques said. "We have a plan when we arrive."

"What should I do?" Gus asked.

"You'll join me, Belle, and Arieshell," Jaques answered.

The crew broke apart, moving with purpose. The air felt fresh now—lighter, clearer. Jacques watched them go, heart pounding with the sense that, for once, they were all moving forward together.

He turned to Arieshell, who was still at his side. "We're going to find him."

She looked at him, eyes calm and certain. "Yes. And when we do... it'll be the first of many things we bring back from the shadows."

The deck of the Sparrow hummed with movement as the crew prepared to disembark in teams. The crew coiled ropes with precision, slung packs over their shoulders, and the sun climbed higher in the sky, casting long shadows that danced over weathered planks. But Jacques remained near the helm, eyes sweeping over his crew, mind working faster than the wind that rustled the sails.

They had a mission—but now they needed something more: a way to survive whatever storm came next.

"Hold a moment," Jacques called, lifting his hand. His voice cut through the bustle. The crew paused, turning back toward him.

"We've got our plan to find William," he said. "But we'd be fools to pretend that's all we need."

"Henry," Léa said softly, her voice like water over stone. "And your father, Arieshell. And your brother."

Jacques nodded grimly. "They'll be coming for us. Maybe not now, not tomorrow, but they will."

Arieshell stepped forward, her sea-glass eyes meeting the crew's. "They don't like that we've escaped their grip. They don't like that we're changing the game. They'll want control again. Please don't fear. My brother is on our side, watching Henry."

"Aye! A spy on the inside. Clever!" Erasmus folded his arms, his voice grave. "If they do anything, we prepare for when they try to take it back."

Jacques gestured to the map he'd unrolled on a barrel beside him. "We'll be splitting up, but we're still a unit. So we need protocols—ways to communicate if something goes wrong. If one group goes missing. If someone gets captured."

Quinton stepped forward, expression unreadable. "We need signals. Visible ones. Fast ones."

"Agreed," Jacques said. "Red ribbon tied to the mast means danger. Blue means safe return. Black means we're compromised and have to vanish—fast."

"And if we're ashore?" Eda asked.

Jacques looked at Arieshell, who answered smoothly. "We use our old pirate code. Etchings—shell symbols on docks or stones. Crescent for a Safehouse. Circle for the regroup point. Spiral for 'lie low.' And we'll each carry one of these."

She held up a carved token—smooth and round, etched with a wave on one side and a flame on the other. "They're enchanted. If you press your thumb to the wave, it will warm if someone nearby sends a message. It's not potent magic, but it's subtle—and it may give you time to escape."

Caspian whistled. "Well, that's clever. And stylish. Can we trade them like playing cards?"

Eda elbowed him. "Only if you want to end up alone when it counts."

"Right. Right," he said with a sheepish grin.

Belle stepped closer, her expression serious. "What if... what if William's being watched? If he's already in danger?"

Jacques's jaw tightened. "Then we approach with care. No charging in. We scout, we confirm, and then we move as one. If we need to fight, we work it out together. But we do not... I repeat, do not lose anyone else."

The silence that followed was heavier than cannon smoke.

Erasmus finally spoke. "If we have to run—where to?"

"I've marked fallback ports," Jacques said, tapping the map. "One here, north of the cocoa trade routes. Another down the southern coast of Africa, and one farther west, near the archipelago. Each one has a contact. If we get split up, go to the nearest one and wait."

"And if Henry finds us first?" Léa asked.

Jacques's voice turned to steel. "Then he'll learn what it means to corner people who have nothing left to lose—and everything left to fight for."

A murmur of approval rippled through the crew.

Arieshell stepped beside him, her voice calm but edged with warning. "They've underestimated us before. They won't make that mistake again. So we stay vigilant. We protect each other."

Caspian leaned on the railing. "You're turning us into a proper rebel crew now, Jacques."

Jacques allowed himself a thin smile. "Not rebels. Survivors. And if we play this right, winners."

He looked once more at each face—weathered, weary, and willing. The old ship groaned and swayed beneath them, the wood groaning with age, carrying not just their bodies, but their hopes and dreams, the weight of every secret pressing down like the sea.

Then he stepped back and rolled the map closed.

"Prep your gear. Meet back here at sundown. We sail on our mission at first light. Until then, watch your backs—and each other."

As the crew scattered, Arieshell lingered behind, her gaze distant.

Jacques touched her arm gently. "You thinking of your father?"

She nodded. "And your own."

He gave a long breath, then nodded toward the horizon. "We'll face them in time. But for now, we find William. Together."

She smiled faintly. "Together."

Evening enveloped the Sparrow, its lanterns casting warm golden halos over the deck as the crew either returned to their quarters or readied themselves for the upcoming journey. The sea gently rocked the ship. The moon ascended slowly, casting a silvery glow above the horizon.

Jacques remained at the helm, hands gripping the rail, eyes fixed on the dark water that stretched out before them like a promise and a warning. He didn't flinch when footsteps approached behind him—he knew that gait too well.

Gus stopped at his side, folding his arms. The older sailor's face was rugged as ever, his beard streaked with silver, his eyes like stone after years of hard sailing. "You've got that look again," he muttered.

Jacques didn't look away from the sea. "What look?"

"The one you wear when your mind's halfway across the ocean and your heart's not far behind."

Jacques exhaled. "Maybe because it is."

Another set of footsteps—lighter, barefoot—joined them. Arieshell moved with the grace of water, her presence quiet but commanding. She slipped beside Jacques, brushing a hand along the railing.

"We should talk about your father," she murmured.

Gus raised a brow but didn't interrupt. Instead, he leaned against the rail, listening.

Jacques nodded slowly. "I don't know what we'll find in Africa. But once we've found William... that's the next step. I need to know the truth."

Arieshell tilted her head. "The sea keeps many secrets. But I might find him... If I listen hard enough."

Jacques turned to her, curious. "You mean... your Siren gifts?"

She gave a slow nod, eyes glowing faintly in the moonlight. "There's a current—one only Sirens can hear. It's old. Deep. It sings of truths that haven't reached the surface yet. If your father's alive... I might feel the echoes he's left behind."

Gus's eyebrows knit together. "Even across the ocean?"

"Sometimes," she said. "Especially if there's a bond. Jacques shares blood with him. That link matters more than you think."

Jacques's heart thudded a little louder. "And if he doesn't want to be found?"

Arieshell looked at him, serious now. "Then the sea will fight me. But I'll know. We'll know."

He studied her face—her certainty, her quiet strength. Then he turned to Gus. "You've always been with me. If this turns bad—if we find something we're not ready for..."

"I'll still be with you," Gus interrupted. "You think I've followed you through shipwrecks and firestorms just to quit when we reach the hard part?"

A crooked smile tugged at Jacques's mouth. "Fair point."

Arieshell stepped closer, voice a whisper over the wind. "We'll need more than a ship for this. We'll need the truth. All of it. Even the kind that hurts."

Jacques looked down at his hands, calloused and worn from years of gripping ropes, steering wheels, and holding too tightly to the past. "I'm ready."

Arieshell reached into the pouch at her waist and pulled out a slender conch shell, pale and iridescent. "When the time comes, I'll call the sea to show us the way."

Gus grunted. "Well, let's hope your father's somewhere dry when that happens."

Jacques laughed—a quiet, tired sound, but real. "Let's just hope he's alive."

They stood in silence for a while, the three of them watching the waves beneath a sky scattered with stars. The air was thick with salt and destiny. And somewhere beneath all that, the future stirred.

The Sparrow was quiet now, save for the occasional creak of the rigging and the soft lap of waves against her hull. The crew had scattered to their tasks, energized by the unity forged that morning and the plan that had taken shape as the day wore on.

Lanterns swung gently with the ship's motion, casting golden arcs across the wood. The scent of salt and tar lingered in the air, mingled with the faint aroma of herbs from Léa's small apothecary tucked below deck.

Jacques stood at the railing, the wood warm beneath his palms, gazing out across the moonlit sea. Beside him, Arieshell leaned close, her presence quiet, the silk of her hair fluttering in the breeze like seaweed beneath the tide.

He glanced at her, thoughtful. "Do you think we'll find him? William, I mean."

Arieshell's eyes were steady on the horizon. "Yes. Belle's heart knows he's still out there. And sometimes, that's all the current needs."

He gave a slow nod, letting the certainty in her voice ground him. The crew's plan was already in motion. Erasmus and Léa would question merchants and shipmasters in the nearby ports. Eda and Caspian were scouting the local taverns and markets, using their quick tongues and sharper instincts to sniff out rumors. Quinton had volunteered to watch the docks, trusting his silent presence to catch what others might miss.

Each of them, Jacques thought, had chosen to stay—despite the dangers, despite the secrets. They were more than a crew now. They were something closer to family.

Behind him, footsteps padded softly on the deck. Belle approached with quiet grace, her arms wrapped around herself, but her eyes clear and resolute.

"I just wanted to thank you," she said, her voice gentle. "All of you... for helping me find him."

Jacques smiled. "You're one of us. And that means William is too."

Belle's eyes shimmered. "He's not just my friend. He's the kind of person who would've stayed behind to help others even if it cost him everything. That's why I'm scared. That's why I know he's worth finding."

"We'll bring him back," Arieshell said softly. "You have my word."

Belle nodded and quietly stepped away, disappearing into the lantern-lit shadows of the ship.

Gus soon joined them with a slow stride, hands in his coat pockets. "Quinton's already marking the tide times for the southern ports. He says if William's anywhere nearby, we'll cross paths within days."

Jacques gave him a nod of thanks. "Good. We'll keep our movements tight. Stay sharp. And no matter what we find, we don't split for long. Not this time."

Gus grinned. "You're learning."

Jacques smirked. "Took me long enough."

The four of them stood together for a while—Jacques, Arieshell, Gus, and the horizon. Around them, the Sparrow swayed like a sleeping beast, its crew preparing in quiet pockets, confidence blooming where uncertainty had once ruled.

The moon was high now, painting a silver path across the water.

Jacques breathed in the salt-heavy air and let his eyes close for just a moment. The journey ahead was still fraught with danger—Africa, his father, the shadows Arieshell's family still cast. But they weren't facing it alone. Not anymore.

He opened his eyes and looked at Arieshell. "We'll find William. And then... we go after the truth."

She nodded once, firmly. "Together."

They stood side by side, silhouettes against the vast and starlit sea—no longer hiding, no longer divided. Just a crew with one heart, facing whatever came next.

A united front.