Grady scrambled back, his boots slipping against the slick, rotting wood beneath him. For a moment he faltered, catching himself awkwardly before retreating further. Then he vanished into the gloom of the steerage, swallowed by shadow.
His eyes, however, lingered—burning with a hateful, cowardly fire.
He did not look back.
The burly man turned toward Killian, his expression softening only slightly, though his gaze remained hard and watchful.
"He's gone for now, lad," he said. "But a man like that does not learn—he waits."
His eyes shifted briefly to Siobhan before returning to Killian.
"Keep your sister close. In this world, predators do not only wear red coats… sometimes they wear the same rags we do."
A short pause followed, then he added, more plainly:
"My name is Dermot—Dermot 'the Anvil' McCann. Your cousin once did me a good turn. If you've need of me, you call."
Killian nodded once. "Thank you."
He stepped inside, taking his sister's hand with deliberate care.
