The argument had shrunk the deck of the Crimson Sparrow. Even under the vast, open sky, the air felt claustrophobic. The ship glided through the waves with a rhythmic thump-thump against the hull, and somewhere above them, gulls cried their harsh commentary on the day.
Raven stood at the helm like she owned not just the wheel but the entire ocean beneath them. Her mismatched hair caught the wind, red and white strands dancing around her face as she adjusted their course with subtle movements of her wrists. She hadn't looked at either of them since the money discussion ended, radiating the kind of pointed indifference that somehow felt louder than shouting.
Great. Now she's giving us the silent treatment.
Pierre scrubbed a hand through his red hair, the motion doing nothing to settle the unease from the negotiation. He'd played mediator, only to end up feeling like a referee at a match where both fighters wanted him dead.
A sharp curse from the starboard side caught his attention.
