Following Davy's lead, the freed captives walked out of the hold in utter silence—
no chatter, no sobbing, no scrambling.
They moved like a trail of ghosts shadowing his steps.
Davy glanced back once, then sighed inwardly.
For him, their quiet was convenient.
But for them… how much suffering did it take to learn such obedient silence?
The quiet lasted until they reached the threshold.
They stepped through the shattered doorway, sunlight flooding in.
The harsh glare forced many to raise trembling hands, squinting.
Only then had they truly left the darkness.
And with the light came the scene outside—
Blood.
Limbs.
Viscera.
The deck painted in carnage like a vision of hell.
Yet the sight didn't terrify the former slaves.
Instead—
their eyes lit up.
Some collapsed to their knees, hands covering their mouths as sobs broke free—
not of fear, but of release.
Joy.
Grief.
A lifetime's worth of humiliation erupting all at once.
Their ragged cries grew louder, spilling out of them like a long-suppressed storm.
Clara—who had been trailing behind Davy—opened her mouth to speak…
But Davy halted before she got the words out.
She blinked.
Then warmth bloomed quietly in her chest.
So he stopped to let them cry…
This cold-faced bounty hunter… is kinder than he looks.
The crying spread like wildfire, girls dropping to the deck one after another, shoulders shaking uncontrollably.
Clara watched them with sympathy.
Unlike her—a noblewoman who had been "preserved" because she was valuable—
these girls had been taken as livestock.
She had seen them dragged back with torn clothes and bruised legs more times than she could count.
Seen them limp and whimper.
Seen them sold and replaced like worn-out toys.
But now…
They were crying because—for the first time—they were safe.
Minutes later, the weeping weakened, dropping into faint whimpers.
Davy finally spoke.
His tone was unchanging—flat and cold.
"Done crying? Get up. Tears don't fix anything."
He resumed walking.
Clara hurried after him—
but many girls stayed where they were.
"Davy, wait!"
He didn't stop.
Of course he knew what was happening behind him.
Their eyes had been dead from the moment he stepped into the cell.
Some of them never intended to leave at all.
Clara panicked, running back.
"Everyone—please! We can cry later. We have to follow Mr. Davy now!"
But the girls smiled at her.
Soft, grateful, resigned.
"It's fine, Clara. Go on."
"If we leave this ship… where would we go? My family's gone."
"Mine too. There's nothing left for me."
"I don't have the face to return home. You know what they did to me… If I go back, I'll only shame them."
Their calm, broken smiles made Clara's eyes sting.
She wanted to help—she wanted to drag them forward—but she also didn't want to lose the only hope she had left: Davy.
"Clara," one whispered, "go. You don't belong with us."
It was the truth.
Clara had been protected for her noble value.
Warm food, clean clothes, no assault, no forced labor—
none of them had enjoyed the privileges she did.
She was a noble.
They were chattel.
That was the difference.
Then—
"Are you satisfied with that?"
The icy voice came from behind.
Clara jumped in fright—
Davy was already standing there.
"When they seized you… when they sold you… did you accept it then?"
The girls stiffened.
Davy's gaze swept them—
quietly, sharply—
and for the first time, they saw him clearly.
He was young.
Far too young.
Skin fair, features still carrying youthful softness.
No older than they were.
But his eyes—
There was fire burning there.
Determination.
Will.
Something terrifyingly alive.
"I killed the ones who captured you," Davy said. "But what about the ones who bought you?"
His words fell like thunder.
"They're still living in luxury. Still buying girls. If you disappear, they'll just buy new ones."
Breaths quickened.
Hands trembled.
"You don't want revenge?"
"You don't want them dead?"
"You don't want to drag them screaming from heaven into the hell they deserve?"
The deck went silent.
Clara felt cold from the spine up.
What is he trying to do?
But the girls—
the ones who had wanted to stay and die—
their eyes flickered.
Thinking.
Burning.
Those who had chosen to follow Davy earlier now turned as well, watching him.
"If you want revenge," Davy said, "follow me."
"Live. Grow stronger. Make yourselves useful. Save people who can still be saved."
He looked at each pair of eyes—
not sparing even one—
Then turned away, pacing toward his ship with steady steps.
One girl…
then another…
then the third…
All seven who had stayed behind slowly rose.
They looked at each other—
and finally, followed.
"Oh, and one more thing."
Davy didn't turn around.
"First rule on my ship: handle your own needs. Find your own food and clothes."
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