The voices outside the door grew louder. Heavy boots stomped against the wooden floor, and I could hear the creak of the ship as it rocked on the waves. Whoever was out there—they were coming.

  The girl grabbed my wrist, her grip strong despite her shaking fingers. “We have to go. Now.”

  Before I could argue, she moved swiftly, yanking open a hidden panel in the wooden wall behind the desk. It led to a narrow passage, barely wide enough for us to squeeze through. Without waiting for my response, she ducked inside, pulling me with her.

  The space was dark, lit only by thin slivers of light slipping through cracks in the wood. I stumbled behind her, my breathing uneven as I tried to keep up. My body ached, my head throbbed, but I forced myself to move.

  I had no idea what was happening, but I knew one thing—staying in that room meant death.

  We crawled through the passage, the sounds of men shouting and doors slamming echoing behind us. The ship groaned like a living thing, and I could hear distant metal scraping against wood—swords being drawn.

  Finally, she pushed open another hidden panel, leading us into a lower deck filled with barrels and crates. It smelled of salt, damp wood, and gunpowder. She turned to face me, her breathing heavy.

  “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” she whispered, pressing her back against the wall like she was afraid the ship itself might hear her. “This was a secret infiltration mission.”

  I blinked at her. “What?”

  She clenched her fists, shaking her head as if she was trying to make sense of it herself. “We weren’t supposed to be caught. We were supposed to sneak aboard, sabotage the ship, and escape before anyone noticed. But… something went wrong. Weasel turned on us. The crew was ready for us. Someone knew we were coming.”

  I stared at her, trying to piece it together, but it was like trying to force a puzzle together when half the pieces were missing. “Why the hell would I be part of an infiltration mission?”

  She hesitated. “Because it was *your* plan.”

  That hit me like a cannon blast to the chest.

  “My plan?” I repeated.

  She nodded. “You put this whole thing together. You knew how dangerous this ship was. You knew what they were hiding, what they were planning. You told me we couldn’t let them reach their destination.”

  I swallowed hard. “And what exactly are they hiding?”

  Her expression darkened. “Something that shouldn’t exist.”

  Before I could ask her to explain, a sudden crash came from above—followed by the sound of running footsteps. She grabbed my wrist again, pulling me forward.

  “We have to get off this ship, Ethan. *Now*.”

  And even though I had no memory of who I was, I had no choice but to follow her into the unknown.

  We moved fast, weaving between crates and barrels, our footsteps muffled by the damp wood beneath us. My mind was racing, trying to piece together the fragments of this supposed mission, but nothing fit.

  I yanked my arm free from her grip, stopping short. “No more running—talk. Right now. If this was my plan, if I knew what we were up against, then *tell me*. What are they hiding? Who the hell are these people?”

  She spun around, frustration flashing across her face. “Ethan, we *don’t* have time for this—”

  “Make time.” I stepped forward, my voice sharper than I expected. “I woke up in a fucking nightmare. I don’t know you. I don’t know *me*. And you keep throwing answers at me like they’re supposed to mean something, but they don’t.” I exhaled, steadying myself. “So talk. If I really planned this, then prove it.”

  She looked at me for a long second, her jaw tight, before finally whispering, “Fine.”

  She glanced toward the ceiling as if listening for footsteps, then grabbed a rusted lantern off a crate, turning the wick down low. The dim glow cast flickering shadows against the wooden beams.

  “This ship,” she started, keeping her voice low, “isn’t just any pirate vessel. It belongs to the *Drowned Fleet*.”

  Something about that name made my stomach twist.

  “They’re more than pirates. More than criminals. They work for something older than the sea itself.” She hesitated before adding, “Something we were supposed to stop.”

  My pulse quickened. “Stop *what*?”

  She bit her lip. “The cargo. The thing in the brig. We were supposed to destroy it before the ship made it to shore.”

  I shook my head. “What *thing*?”

  She hesitated, then said carefully, “Something *alive*.”

  The words hit me like ice water.

  I didn’t even realize I had taken a step back until she grabbed my sleeve. “You *knew* what it was, Ethan. You told me that if it reached land, it would change everything. That we’d already lost too much.” Her fingers curled tighter around the fabric. “And then Weasel sold us out.”

  I ran a hand through my hair, my heart pounding. “I don’t—” My voice broke slightly, and I hated the uncertainty in it. “I don’t *remember* any of this.”

  She swallowed hard. “I know.”

  I looked at her then, really looked at her. Beneath the tension in her voice, the frustration in her eyes, there was something else—something close to fear.

  Not fear of me. Fear *for* me.

  I exhaled. “Who is Weasel?”

  She scoffed bitterly. “A rat. A backstabber. Someone we trusted.”

  The floor above us groaned, voices moving toward the staircase.

  She tensed. “We need to get off this ship. Once we do, we can figure out what happened to you. We can fix this.”

  There was an urgency in her tone that made me uneasy.

  “And what if I don’t remember?” I asked quietly.

  She hesitated just a little too long before answering.

  “Then we’re dead.”

  She turned, leading us toward a hatch near the back of the cargo hold. And despite every instinct telling me to run in the opposite direction, I followed her into the dark.

  We moved through the cargo hold, the damp wood groaning beneath our feet. The lantern in her hand cast weak, flickering light across rows of barrels and crates, their surfaces marked with strange symbols I couldn’t read. The air was thick with salt, mold, and something else—something metallic, like rust or blood.

  I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had been here before. Not just this ship, but this moment—this creeping dread, this urgency. The problem was, I couldn’t remember it.

  I tried to focus on the girl in front of me. She moved like someone used to the shadows, her steps careful, her body tense like a bowstring ready to snap.

  I still didn’t know her name.

  “Who are you?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

  She didn’t stop walking. “You really don’t remember?”

  “No. And I’m getting tired of people expecting me to.”

  She let out a quiet breath, then said, “Mira.”

  The name stirred something in me, but it was like a whisper lost in a storm—gone before I could hold onto it.

  I shook my head. “We were partners?”

  Her jaw tightened. “More than that.”

  The way she said it made my chest feel hollow. Like I had lost something important, and she was standing here, watching me fail to recognize it.

  I didn’t know what to say to that, so I kept moving.

  The ship rocked beneath us, the distant sounds of shouting and steel on steel echoing from the decks above. A fight was breaking out.

  I glanced at Mira. “How many of us were there?”

  She hesitated before answering. “Five.”

  I felt a pit form in my stomach. “And now?”

  She exhaled. “I don’t know.”

  That told me everything I needed to know.

  I turned my attention to the crates around us. “What’s in all this?”

  “Supplies. Weapons. Alcohol. Standard pirate fare.” She moved forward, running her fingers along the wooden lids. Then she stopped, pressing her palm against one with a deep red mark burned into the surface.

  “But these,” she murmured, “are different.”

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  I stepped closer, my pulse quickening. “How different?”

  She looked at me. “The kind of different that made you plan this whole damn mission.”

  That wasn’t comforting.

  She grabbed a crowbar from a nearby barrel and wedged it under the crate’s lid, prying it open with a sharp crack of wood. The lantern’s dim light barely touched what was inside, but I could see enough.

  Dark, iron-bound containers. Smaller, coffin-like boxes, each sealed shut with wax sigils I didn’t recognize.

  I took a step back. “What the hell are those?”

  Mira didn’t answer immediately. She reached in, running her fingers over the seals like she was testing their strength.

  “This is what the Drowned Fleet trades in,” she said quietly. “Not just gold. Not just stolen cargo. They deal in things that shouldn’t be touched.”

  I swallowed hard. “Like what?”

  She looked up at me, her voice almost a whisper.

  “Cursed things. Forgotten things. Things that were never meant to leave the deep.”

  Something cold ran down my spine.

  I turned back to the crate, staring at the sealed boxes inside. “And we were supposed to destroy this?”

  She nodded. “Before it reaches its buyer.”

  “And who’s the buyer?”

  She hesitated again, and that told me I wasn’t going to like the answer.

  “The people funding the Fleet.” She paused. “The ones who deal with the gods.”

  The air felt heavier.

  I didn’t know why, but hearing that set something off deep inside me. Like an old wound torn open. I pressed a hand to my temple, wincing.

  Flashes of something—distant, blurred, like a dream half-remembered. A figure standing on a shore. Black waves lapping at their feet. A voice, low and ancient, whispering something I needed to remember.

  Then it was gone.

  Mira was watching me.

  “You feel it, don’t you?” she asked.

  I exhaled, shaking my head. “I don’t know what I feel.”

  She bit her lip, then grabbed my wrist. “Come on. We need to move.”

  We slipped deeper into the ship, avoiding the sounds of chaos above. Mira led me toward a narrow corridor lined with iron doors—cells.

  “Why are there holding cells on a pirate ship?” I asked.

  She didn’t answer right away. She stopped at one of the doors, pressing her ear against the wood.

  Then she whispered, “Because this isn’t just a pirate ship.”

  I frowned. “Then what is it?”

  She turned the handle slowly. The door creaked open just enough for me to see inside.

  A man sat in the far corner, shackled to the wall, his head lowered. His skin was pale—too pale. His breath came in slow, ragged pulls.

  Then he lifted his head, and I took a step back.

  His eyes were pitch black.

  Not like darkness. Not like shadow. Like the abyss itself was staring back at me.

  Mira pulled me away before I could say anything, shutting the door carefully. She turned to me, her expression unreadable.

  “This ship is carrying more than just cargo,” she whispered. “They’re bringing things back from the deep.”

  I ran a hand through my hair, my pulse hammering.

  “And we were supposed to stop it?”

  She nodded. “Before they deliver it to the ones who paid for it.”

  I shook my head. “Who are these people?”

  Mira exhaled. “There’s a name you used to say. A name that made even the worst pirates stop and listen.”

  I looked at her. “What name?”

  She hesitated, then said it softly, like she was afraid the ship itself might hear.

  “The Drowned King.”

  The name sent a shiver through me.

  Not fear.

  Something worse.

  Recognition.

  A sudden explosion rocked the ship, sending crates tumbling. Above us, men shouted orders, and the sharp ring of steel echoed through the wooden beams.

  Mira grabbed my arm. “Time’s up.”

  She pulled me toward the back of the hold, toward a grate leading to the lower decks.

  As we climbed down, my mind was still reeling.

  The Drowned Fleet. The cursed cargo. The black-eyed prisoner. The name The Drowned King.

  I didn’t know why it all felt so familiar.

  But I knew one thing.

  Whatever was waiting at the end of this mission—whatever I had forgotten—was something far worse than death.

  And for the first time since waking up, I wasn’t sure I wanted to remember.

  Mira didn’t let go of my wrist as she pulled me deeper into the ship. The narrow wooden corridor ahead curved downward, spiraling into the dark, and the dampness in the air thickened. The ship groaned with the weight of the storm outside, waves slamming against the hull. The sound of the battle above us—clashing swords, gunfire, dying men—was muffled, but I could still feel it, like distant thunder rolling through the floor.

  We reached a rusted metal hatch at the end of the hall, its edges lined with thick rope and symbols burned into the wood. I ran my fingers over one, feeling the ridges beneath my skin. It was some kind of sigil, but I didn’t recognize it.

  I turned to Mira. “What’s behind this door?”

  She hesitated.

  “The real reason we’re here,” she said.

  A sharp, guttural scream tore through the hull. It didn’t come from above. It came from below.

  I swallowed hard. “That didn’t sound human.”

  Mira pressed a finger to her lips and slowly turned the wheel of the hatch, wincing as the metal creaked. The door cracked open, revealing a dimly lit chamber lined with chains, hooks, and iron cages. A bitter, rotting smell hit me, thick enough to make my stomach turn.

  We stepped inside.

  The room was colder than the rest of the ship, like the sea itself had seeped through the wood. The lantern’s glow barely touched the far walls, but I could make out rows of crates and something worse—something writhing.

  Cages.

  Inside them, figures twitched and trembled, their bodies barely more than silhouettes in the low light.

  Mira exhaled, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “This is where they keep the ones that don’t die.”

  My throat tightened. “What does that mean?”

  She stepped forward, gripping the lantern tightly. “The Drowned Fleet doesn’t just take prisoners. They make them.”

  She knelt beside one of the cages, holding the lantern up.

  The figure inside shifted. Its skin was stretched too tight, pale and slick, like it had been pulled from the water and left to dry. Its fingers twitched, curling into sharp, blackened claws. And its eyes—

  Its eyes were nothing but abyss.

  Black, endless voids, swirling like storm-tossed water.

  My pulse slammed against my ribs.

  The prisoner’s mouth opened, lips splitting at the corners, and a voice—not one, but many—slithered out.

  “We see you.”

  Mira shot backward, nearly dropping the lantern. “Shit.”

  The thing in the cage lunged against the bars, metal groaning under its weight.

  I stumbled back. “What the fuck is that?”

  Mira didn’t answer. She grabbed my arm and yanked me toward the far wall, where a heavy wooden table was nailed to the floor.

  Scattered across it were charts, torn maps, and old documents written in a language I didn’t recognize.

  Mira shoved aside a pile of papers, revealing a black-bound book with thick, uneven pages. She flipped it open, her hands moving quickly over the ink-stained words.

  “We don’t have much time,” she muttered. “But you knew this was happening. You knew what they were doing. You told me we had to stop it before—”

  A low growl echoed through the chamber.

  I turned. The prisoner was still clinging to the bars, but now it wasn’t alone.

  A second figure had stirred in another cage. Then a third.

  One by one, they moved, their joints popping, their eyes opening—those endless black abysses locking onto us.

  I took a step back. “Mira—”

  She slammed the book shut. “We have to go.”

  A wet, rattling breath filled the room.

  Then the first cage snapped open.

  The prisoner inside moved fast—too fast. It hit the floor on all fours, its head snapping toward us.

  Mira grabbed my wrist and ran.

  We sprinted for the exit as the thing behind us shrieked, its voice rising in an unholy wail. Chains rattled, doors slammed, and the air grew thick with something heavy—something wrong.

  Mira threw open the hatch, shoving me through first. I stumbled up the stairs, my pulse hammering, my mind screaming for answers that didn’t exist.

  What were those things?

  Why did I feel like I had seen them before?

  Why did their voices feel like they were speaking directly into my skull?

  Mira slammed the hatch shut behind us, jamming the locking mechanism. Her breathing was ragged, her fingers trembling.

  “That’s what they’re carrying,” she whispered. “Not just relics. Not just treasure.”

  I stared at her.

  She looked back at me, eyes dark with something close to fear.

  “They’re transporting the drowned.”

  The ship rocked violently, and I heard a distant boom—cannon fire.

  Mira snapped to attention. “They’re under attack.”

  My thoughts were still tangled, still clawing for something solid, but I forced them aside.

  I didn’t know who was attacking the ship. I didn’t know what we were running from.

  But one thing was clear.

  We needed to get the hell off this vessel before it sank—

  Or before the things in the brig made it to the surface.

  The ship lurched, nearly knocking me off my feet. Above us, the sounds of battle intensified—cannon fire, the sharp crack of muskets, the clash of steel.

  Mira grabbed my arm. “We have to get topside. If the ship’s under attack, this is our chance to escape.”

  I forced my feet to move, mind still reeling from what we’d just seen. The drowned—those creatures—were they even human anymore? And why did I feel like I should have known what they were?

  We reached the end of the corridor, where a steep set of stairs led to the upper deck. Mira paused at the bottom, pressing herself against the wall.

  She peered up, then cursed under her breath. “Guards.”

  I leaned beside her, straining to hear. Heavy boots stomped across the deck above, the rhythmic clank of armor signaling at least three, maybe four men. Their voices were muffled by the rain and gunfire, but I caught snippets.

  “—containment’s been breached—”

  “—those things waking up—”

  “—Drowned King won’t be happy—”

  The last sentence sent a chill through me.

  Mira turned to me, her expression grim. “There’s no way we can fight through them.”

  I exhaled sharply, trying to think. “Then we don’t fight.”

  I scanned our surroundings. The ship’s interior was tight, full of shadows, crates, and hanging lanterns that barely kept the dark at bay. If we could slip past unnoticed, we had a shot at reaching the deck.

  A thought struck me.

  “What if we go through the galley?” I asked. “Most ships have a back exit leading near the captain’s quarters. If we cut through, we might avoid the guards entirely.”

  Mira hesitated, considering. Then she nodded. “Alright, but we move fast.”

  We darted down a side passage, the wooden planks creaking under our weight. The air thickened with the scent of old stew and burnt meat as we neared the galley.

  The door was slightly ajar. Mira pushed it open carefully.

  Inside, the kitchen was a mess—pots overturned, half-eaten meals left abandoned. A small lantern flickered on a hanging hook, casting long shadows over the wooden counters.

  And then I saw him.

  A cook lay slumped against the far wall, his throat torn open. His eyes were still open, staring blankly, his mouth twisted in a final gasp. Blood pooled beneath him, dark and thick, soaking into the floorboards.

  Mira stiffened beside me. “They’ve been here.”

  I swallowed hard.

  The drowned.

  Had one of them escaped?

  I took a step forward, careful not to disturb anything. “We need to go—”

  A low rasping breath filled the room.

  I spun.

  From behind the overturned table, something moved.

  A shadow slithered across the floor, slow and jerky, the sound of bones scraping against wood filling the silence.

  Then a hand appeared—thin, clawed fingers digging into the planks.

  Mira grabbed my sleeve. “Move. Now.”

  We bolted for the far door, shoving it open just as the thing behind us lunged.

  The door slammed shut, but we didn’t stop running.

  The hallway beyond was narrower, leading toward the officers’ quarters. My chest burned with every breath, my legs screaming for rest, but we couldn’t stop.

  Not yet.

  The ship shuddered again—a cannonball striking the hull. Wood splintered somewhere above, and the scent of smoke curled through the air.

  The battle was getting worse.

  Mira skidded to a stop near another ladder leading up. “This should take us near the helm—”

  The door at the end of the hall burst open.

  A pirate stepped through, sword drawn, his uniform bearing the insignia of the Drowned Fleet. His eyes locked onto us, and he raised the blade.

  “Traitors.”

  Mira barely had time to react. The pirate charged.

  I moved on instinct. My hand reached for a weapon I didn’t have.

  Then something clicked.

  I did have a weapon.

  Before I even processed it, I reached down and felt cold metal against my palm. A blade—familiar, worn, perfectly balanced.

  Where had I—?

  No time.

  The pirate swung. I ducked low, feeling the air whistle past my ear. My body moved like it had done this before. My grip tightened around the hilt, and before I could second-guess myself, I struck.

  Steel met flesh. The pirate staggered back, clutching his side, his face twisted in pain.

  Mira didn’t hesitate. She kicked him hard, sending him crumpling to the floor.

  I stared at my own hands, my own weapon, my own instincts.

  I knew how to fight.

  Mira didn’t look surprised. She only grabbed my wrist. “Come on.”

  We climbed the ladder, bursting onto the upper deck at last.

  The storm was worse than I’d expected—rain lashed at my face, and the ship rocked violently beneath us. Smoke and fire filled the air, and across the deck, men clashed in brutal combat.

  Who was attacking the ship? Another crew?

  I didn’t have time to wonder.

  Mira pulled me toward the rail. “We jump.”

  I hesitated, looking at the black water below.

  Something about it sent an unnatural dread through me.

  The depths. The darkness.

  The feeling of something waiting beneath the waves.

  I shook it off. No time for fear.

  Together, we leapt—

  —into the sea.