The low hum of Emberwake's steam engine still reverberated beneath their feet, but it felt oddly distant, as if the world had shifted in a single breath. Isobel's gaze never left the horizon as she stood near the railing, her heart weighed down by the same dread that clung to Sir. Wilkinson, whose silent pacing had now reached an almost frantic rhythm.
Liora, who had been the steady one, was finally showing the cracks in her composure. Her hands clenched tightly by her sides as she glanced toward the gangplank, her steps quick and uneven.
And then, a figure appeared at the edge of the deck. At first, Isobel couldn't make it out, the dimming light casting long shadows over the figures below. But then the familiar rhythm of boots on the planks reached them.
Liora stopped in her tracks as the figure came into view — a man carrying something in his arms. His movements were quick, purposeful, but not hurried. Liora's breath caught in her throat.
There, in the stranger's arms, was Roald.
A sudden, sharp panic surged within Isobel's chest. She pushed off the railing, her heart pounding as she took a step toward the deck, only to freeze when her eyes met Sir. Wilkinson's. His face was pale, a deep and terrible understanding in his eyes. Liora was already moving, rushing toward the figure with barely contained urgency.
"Roald!" Liora shouted, her voice breaking in disbelief as she saw the state of the boy.
Sir. Wilkinson, always calm in the face of tension, gritted his teeth. "Liora, wait," he called, but she was already by the stranger's side. Her voice cracked again as she reached for Roald, who hung limply in the man's arms.
Isobel's blood ran cold as the stranger's face came into focus.
She knew him.
It was the Debt Collector.
He was known for his methods, and his reputation had always preceded him. But now he wasn't an enigma to be feared — now he was the one standing before them with Roald, a shell of the boy she knew, barely breathing.
Liora's hands hovered over Roald's body, her breath ragged. "What happened to him? Where did you—"
The Debt Collector's voice was cool, almost bored as he replied, "He's alive, isn't he?"
Liora's face twisted in confusion and fury, but Isobel's instinct to protect Roald flared violently. In one swift motion, she pulled her blade free, pointing it directly at the Debt Collector.
"Who did this?" she demanded, her voice low and cutting.
Sir. Wilkinson took a step forward, raising a hand to signal Isobel to hold back, his expression calm but firm. "Isobel, lower your blade."
Reluctantly, she obeyed, her eyes still locked on the Debt Collector, unwavering, watching every movement with heightened suspicion.
The Debt Collector seemed unfazed by the threat, looking down at Roald for only a moment before replying, "That's a redundant question if you ask me."
Isobel's lips pressed into a tight line as her frustration flared, her grip tightening on the hilt of her blade. "Answer the question."
Before the Debt Collector could reply, Sir. Wilkinson spoke again, his tone flat, though the tension in his jaw was evident. "Nux."
The Debt Collector's gaze shifted slightly, first to Sir. Wilkinson, then to Isobel. His face remained unreadable. "I expected you to be a little more grateful," he said. "But you should know, I didn't save him because I care." He paused, his gaze flicking between Sir. Wilkinson and Isobel. "I did it because you still have unfinished business with me."
The moment the words left his mouth, Sir. Wilkinson's expression shifted. His shoulders tensed ever so slightly, but his eyes flickered with sudden understanding. He nodded, then turned to Isobel.
"He wants to talk to you," Sir. Wilkinson said. "Five minutes."
Isobel blinked, her grip on her sword relaxing just slightly, but her face remained tight. She took a long breath, letting her anger settle, but the fire in her eyes remained. "Very well," she replied, her voice controlled but still cold as steel. "Five minutes."
She turned toward the Debt Collector, her blade still in hand but lowered. "But I will give you fair warning," she said, her voice softening to a dangerous edge. "If you request anything more than a conversation, I will slit your throat and drive my knee into your skull like a stray brick crashing through tinted church windows."
For a long moment, there was silence. The Debt Collector remained as still as a statue, and Sir. Wilkinson and Liora both exchanged a glance.
Liora's face betrayed an unreadable mix of confusion and disbelief, while Sir. Wilkinson's features softened with a hint of a smile — not of humor, but of something else entirely, perhaps admiration.
The Debt Collector blinked, his gaze flicking to Sir. Wilkinson, then back to Isobel, and for the first time, he allowed the faintest twitch of a smirk to cross his face. He remained silent for a moment, but his eyes glittered with something cold and calculating.
Isobel didn't move.
Finally, the Debt Collector spoke, his voice low but steady. "Understood."
The tension in the air was almost tangible, but Isobel's expression never shifted. Neither did the Debt Collector's.
And as the two of them stood there, facing each other across the shadows of the Emberwake's deck, it became clear that this conversation would be anything but ordinary.
The silence stretched again, and for a brief moment, the whole world held its breath.