"Of its purpose I dare not speak; of its workings, I know but fragments. Yet even so, the project carries a name."
Archbishop Lorenzo, Date Unknown.
Camila knelt beside her small wooden bed, fingers closing around the worn beads of her rosary. "Our Father, who art in heaven…" Her voice was soft, almost swallowed by the quiet of her room. Each word rolled off her tongue with the ease of habit.
When the prayer ended, she stayed on her knees. Eyes closed, she whispered for Francis. For his safety. For his return. For whatever mercy the Lord might grant him out there.
Her mind slipped unbidden to the wedding—two days from now. Two days. The thought hit too sharply. Her chest ached, and tears threatened, but she swallowed them back, grounding herself to the best of her ability.
He will come back.
She said it aloud this time, firmer, letting the words settle in the room. He will come back. She pictured him somewhere out there, alive, fighting, breathing, rowing through the night toward her. It wasn't hope anymore. It was certainty.
She rose from the floor, hands still clasped around the beads, and stepped into the street. The villagers were out earlier than usual. Their eyes found her first, and with that came the pity. Some even stopped her mid-step, murmuring condolences or asking after him, showing no consideration for her feelings.
Another poor widow, they must have thought. Another life cut short.
She nodded, offered faint words of thanks, and kept walking. Her chest tightened, but she kept going. The Gospel had taught her that faith was tested in moments like these, not at her happiest hour. And for that, she was grateful, because she wasn't planning to falter.
***
Valeria sat in her cabin aboard the inconspicuous ship, the gentle sway lulling her as she searched for any trace of Francis. There was none. Again. She let it go. No point in disturbing those who didn't want to awaken.
She wasn't alone. The sword she had taken a while back rested against the wall. It was so close, yet so incredibly far.
One usage and I'm mush.
Her crew's restraint surprised her. Such a prized weapon, and none of them dared so much as touch it. Greed should have surfaced somewhere, even beneath the discipline her pragmatism instilled. But there was none.
"If I could turn into mush, I could only imagine what they would turn into," she muttered, a faint sigh escaping her. It was a mistake. Beautiful, yes. But ultimately useless—like stealing the king of England's crown. Pleasing to the eyes, worthless in every other regard.
Then again… at least the crown doesn't contain the essence of a Saint.
A knock sounded against the cabin door. Too certain to belong to a regular crewman.
"Come in, Robert," Valeria said without looking up.
"Sharp as ever, captain," he replied as he stepped inside. His boots thudded softly against the floorboards. "If I may—when do you think we'll set sail again?"
Had it been anyone else, she would've told them to beat it. But Robert wasn't anyone else.
"That depends on whether the trail grows cold," she said. "But since we're stuck on this desolate rock, there's no way to know for sure."
"What about sending some of the boys to Havana?" he asked. "Have them gather information and return."
"You know the logistics better than most," she said. "It'd take them six months to bring back outdated intel. We'd lose the only advantage we have—and it's barely an advantage at all."
Robert nodded, jaw tight. The silence lingered for a moment. He understood. They were living on borrowed time, and whatever window they had was already narrowing.
"You don't have to stay on this burning ship, you know?" Valeria said at last. Her voice lost some of its edge. "Your skills would be valued everywhere."
Robert didn't flinch. "What kind of first mate would I be if I left the moment trouble arose?" His tone carried no bravado—just conviction. "It's just another hiccup. We'll pull through. Same as every other time."
Maybe it was the years they'd spent together. Maybe it was the empty ship. Either way, Valeria felt something soften in her chest. Before she could reconsider, she stepped closer and pulled him into a tight embrace.
"Thank you, Robert," she murmured. "It's good to have someone to rely on."
"Always," he said simply, arms wrapping around her with familiarity.
"So, what should we do about that useless piece of metal?" he added a while later.
She stepped back, just enough to meet his eyes.
A good question indeed. One she absolutely had not spent countless sleepless nights obsessing over.
"If the Apostolic See can track it using divination," Robert went on, voice lowering, "then we're as good as dead."
That did it. A quiet, brutal truth cutting through her hesitation, pushing her back into motion.
Valeria sighed.
"Fine," she muttered. "Let's stop pretending we have time to waste."
***
Camila couldn't help but eat her stew halfheartedly. Across the table, her mother watched her with that look again. The one she'd been getting all morning.
"What?" Camila said.
Her mother hesitated. "Are you sure you still want to hold the ceremony? Wouldn't it be better to wait until we know he's coming back?"
"He will come back," Camila said, correcting her without thinking. "He promised, didn't he?"
The conviction in her voice didn't soften the woman's expression. If anything, it deepened the sorrow in her eyes.
"Camila… I know watching people fade away hasn't been easy. It hasn't been for me, either. But maybe it's time to come to terms with—"
"I reject that," Camila cut in. Irritation flashed across her face. "I won't let this ruined world break my soul."
The phrasing surprised her. Too dramatic. Too… Francis. Realizing that only tightened the knot in her stomach. "I like how defeatist you are, Mom," she muttered sarcastically.
Her mother let out a long sigh. "Oh, Camila. If only you were as sweet to me behind closed doors as you are to others."
"Yeah, well, others didn't allow Miguel to join the Royal Navy," she shot back. Old bitterness surged up before she could stop it.
"It was going to be either Miguel or Juan. Do you think Juan would've fared any better?"
Except he died shortly after anyway.
"At least Miguel was nice to me," Camila said. Which finally broke her mother's patience.
"Camila! Show some respect to your older brother!"
She could've pushed further, but there was no point. Arguments with her mother were only headache-inducing.
Camila set her spoon down and stood, leaving most of the stew untouched.
"Where are you going?" her mother called.
"Fresh air," Camila said over her shoulder. "This house is suffocating me."
Camila walked, memory guiding her steps. Her mind kept circling the recent storm. She hadn't paid it much attention at first. But recalling it now, she realized how violent it had been. Windows rattling. Waves crashing hard enough to shake the docks.
If Francis had been at sea during that…
No. It didn't make sense. Why would he sail during a storm? He wasn't reckless. He wasn't foolish. He wasn't the type to gamble with his life over a rumor.
And that treasure—whatever it was supposed to be. He'd said it was for them. A better life. A stronger start to their marriage. Sweet words, comforting words, but they didn't match the reality of their lives. They didn't need much to live here. They never had. So why risk everything for something so uncertain?
More questions surfaced as she walked, each heavier than the last. By the time she reached the beach, a cold truth had settled in her chest.
Francis hadn't told her everything.
He'd been hiding something from her. Something big enough to push him into a storm in the dead of night.
She stood at the shoreline, staring out across the water, her pulse quickening.
Whatever had taken him from her—whether the sea or something else—it wasn't just misfortune.
It was a secret she hadn't seen coming.
She remembered the whispers. The townsfolk had noticed before she had. Francis speaking with that pirate captain—the tall woman with the cold eyes and the sharper tongue. People told her to be careful. Some even hinted at infidelity. She'd laughed it off. Why wouldn't she? Francis wasn't that kind of man. He never had been.
But now… now she understood something she hadn't before.
A man didn't need to be unfaithful to be hiding something dangerous.
The realization settled deep in her gut.
And as far as clues went, there was only one person in the entire world who might know what he'd been tangled in.
Only one person he'd spoken to more than he ever admitted.
Only one person Camila had never wanted to confront.
Valeria.