The Stormrider smelled like fried fish and burnt wood by dawn. Sailors bustled about, patching holes and scrubbing scorch marks from the deck. JP sat cross-legged in the corner, surrounded by his smoking prototypes like a proud but exhausted father.
"Okay," he muttered, poking the pulse shooter with a stick, "maybe don't use wet salt air for testing live current. Noted."
Lyra, arms crossed, raised an eyebrow. "Noted? You nearly roasted the bosun last night."
"Hey, in my defense, he walked in front of my prototype!" JP protested. "Besides, he said it made his beard 'tingly.' That's practically a feature."
A sailor passing by barked a laugh. "I'd buy one if it trims my beard while I fight!"
Lyra rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn't fall overboard. "Your inventions are going to get us thrown off this ship."
"Correction," JP said, tightening a bolt with unnecessary flourish. "My inventions saved this ship." He grinned, holding up a dented bracer. "And look—no accidental explosions this time. That's progress!"
Lyra leaned in, voice lowering. "Progress, yes. Safety, debatable." Then her tone softened. "But you're not useless out here. I'll give you that."
JP blinked, surprised at the rare compliment. "Wow. That almost sounded like respect."
"Don't ruin it."
Celebration and Rumors
By midday, the captain called for a small feast. Barrels of ale cracked open, roasted fish spread across tables, and sailors sang off-key. JP was dragged into drinking contests he didn't remember signing up for.
"Three mugs and he's swaying already!" someone hollered.
"I'm calibrating my internal stabilizers," JP slurred, nearly falling into Lyra's lap. She shoved him upright with a sigh.
It was loud, joyful, and exactly the kind of distraction they needed. But beneath the laughter, whispers carried.
"Those weren't random pirates."
"Someone paid them."
JP, still woozy from ale, caught a snippet that sobered him fast: "Rival merchants. Same trick as in the last city."
He exchanged a look with Lyra, who had clearly heard the same. Her expression was tight, unreadable.
"Great," JP muttered under his breath. "First they want to buy me, then they try to fry me. At this rate I'll need a punch card—'survive five assassination attempts, get the sixth free.'"
Lyra smacked the back of his head lightly. "Focus. This means they'll keep coming."
"Good thing I'm upgrading everything," JP said, forcing a grin. "Next time, I'll fry them."
She studied him for a long moment, then allowed a tiny smile. "Just don't fry yourself first."