Celia's jaw set.
It was her sister's jaw. The same bone. The same quality of a decision being made in real time.
The ship groaned.
Not a wave. A deeper sound — structural. The sound of a vessel's hull in conversation with a sea condition it hadn't been designed for and was no longer comfortable managing.
One of the young men who'd had the gun — now gunless, still against the corridor wall — turned his head. His expression had changed from aggressive to the expression of a person who has become aware that the context of the last forty minutes is no longer the most pressing context.
"Where's the captain," he said to the man beside him.
"What?"
"FIND THE CAPTAIN—"
Raven lifted Nara. Princess carry — one arm under her knees, one behind her back, the ease of it familiar. He looked at the young men with the specific, level patience of a person who has arrived at the last available moment for stating the obvious.
"The ship," he said, "is sinking."
Silence.
He looked at them.
