Aye, cabin boy. Then we'll let it end with Shitsubo feeling Dagon's mind claw against his own — the exact instant the deThe sea had gone too still.
It wasn't the silence of calm waters or dawn resting over the horizon — it was the silence of breath held, of a living thing waiting for something to move first. The air along the jagged coast was heavy, a breathless sort of weight that made men sweat and keep their voices low. Even the wind that came off the waves carried no salt, only the reek of something rotten beneath.
They'd arrived before sunrise, what was left of them. Juro's head was wrapped, half his face a lattice of bandages where Shitsubo's strike had carved through flesh. He didn't complain anymore. Even his usual biting remarks had dried into quiet nods and muttered orders. Behind him, Genji, Diago, and the rest of the surviving crew were little more than walking wounds stitched together by fear and bad faith.
