Jack stared up at the wreck wedged into the stone ceiling, then slowly adjusted his hat.
"Hm," he said thoughtfully, brushing imaginary sand from his sleeve. "My friend… why don't you do the honours of finding the treasure?"
His tone was casual, but his eyes never left the near-vertical climb required to reach the Santiago. The shattered hull creaked faintly above them, bits of rope swaying in the cavern wind.
Daniel glanced at him.
"You're the pirate."
"Yes," Jack agreed smoothly. "And a wise pirate delegates when appropriate."
Tamara looked from one to the other, unimpressed.
Jack gestured vaguely upward. "It's clearly a perilous ascent. Jagged rocks. Unstable beams. Potential collapse. All very tragic. However, you possess… alternative methods of transportation."
Daniel gave him a flat look. "You know, Jack, you're the laziest pirate I've ever met. Also the slimiest. You use other people at every opportunity."
Jack placed a hand over his chest in mild offense. "I prefer the term 'strategically efficient.' And tell me I'm wrong—does that ship not look as though one misplaced footstep would send it crashing down upon us in a spectacularly fatal display?"
The Santiago groaned faintly above them, a splintered beam shifting in the wind as if to prove his point.
"If I remove one plank," Jack continued carefully, "the whole thing may decide to descend. I would hate for history to record that Captain Jack Sparrow was flattened by Spanish architecture."
Daniel sighed.
"Fine."
He closed his eyes.
The shadows at his feet stretched across the sand, then surged upward along the cavern wall. They slipped into the broken hull of the Santiago, flowing through shattered decks and collapsed cabins like smoke seeking its target.
Inside the wreck, darkness moved with purpose. It swept through the captain's quarters, brushed aside fallen timber, and located what they needed—the silver chalices of Ponce de León, preserved despite the ruin. Nearby lay a weathered chest, its contents glinting faintly even in the gloom.
A moment later, the shadows recoiled.
With a soft ripple in the air, the cups, the map, and a heavy chest of treasure appeared at Daniel's feet.
Jack stared.
For half a second, he was silent.
Then he dropped to his knees.
He cradled the chest, lifted the lid, and let out a reverent sigh at the sight of gold and jewels reflecting the cave light.
"My loyal companions," he murmured, kissing a coin before letting it spill through his fingers. "We are reunited."
Daniel ignored him entirely. He unfolded the map, scanning the markings with focus while Jack continued whispering affectionate nonsense to gold.
"The entrance is northeast of the island," Daniel said at last, tracing the indicated point. "Hidden beyond the cliffs."
He picked up the two silver cups from the chest and examined them briefly before closing the lid again.
"Chop chop, Jack. We have a fountain to find."
Behind him, Tamara was quietly edging away toward the sea, steps slow and careful.
"And Tamara," Daniel added without turning around, "be a good girl and come back. You've seen what I can do. Spare yourself the spanking."
She froze mid-step.
"I am not afraid of you," she said sharply, though she did stop moving.
"I'm hungry," she added after a moment.
Daniel didn't look up from the map. "Then you can eat this guy after we're done with the Fountain. Fry him first. He might taste better."
He pointed lazily at Jack.
Jack froze mid-caress of a gold necklace.
"…I beg your pardon?"
Tamara's eyes lingered on him for a moment, then she made a faint sound of distaste.
"No," she said coolly. "He smells worse."
On land, scent was different. In the sea, blood and fear blurred together in salt. Here, she could distinguish everything—the sour trace of rum soaked into fabric, stale sweat, old leather, unwashed hair. It was sharp, unpleasant.
Jack blinked.
"I beg your pardon again," he said, straightening. "I carry the refined fragrance of adventure."
Tamara's lip curled slightly. "You carry rot."
Daniel exhaled quietly, already tired of this. "Then eat something else."
"I do not eat what humans eat," she replied, chin lifting. "We hunt. We tear. We take what is alive."
"That's inefficient," Daniel said. "Fish. Cooked."
Her gaze sharpened. "Cooked?"
"With fire."
Her eyes flickered at the word. Mermaids of Whitecap Bay feared fire; it weakened them, drove them back.
"You burn the flesh," she said slowly, wary.
"Yes," Daniel replied evenly. "And it tastes better than raw human flesh."
Jack cleared his throat. "Consider it… culinary evolution."
***
An hour later, near the concealed entrance to the Fountain of Youth, a small campfire crackled against the damp stone of the cliffs.
Daniel knelt beside it, turning strips of pork over the flame with deliberate patience. Fat sizzled as it dripped into the fire, sending up smoke rich with salt and spice.
Jack hovered nearby, eyes fixed on the roasting meat.
"Mate," he said, inhaling deeply, "what did you put in those spices? I'm getting hungry just looking at it."
Elizabeth sat on a fallen log, watching Tamara more than the fire. Evelyn stood beside her, equally curious.
Tamara sat slightly apart at first, tense and rigid, clearly uncomfortable with the fire's proximity. But the scent reached her all the same. It was nothing like raw flesh. It wasn't the metallic tang of blood or the brine of sea-soaked prey.
It was warm.
Layered.
Strange.
Daniel lifted a piece off the flame and placed it on a broad leaf, sliding it toward her. "Eat."
Tamara stared at it for a long moment.
Then hunger won.
She grabbed it and tore into it without hesitation. There was no elegance in the way she ate—no restraint, no human politeness. She bit hard, tearing flesh with sharp teeth, devouring it with the instinct of a predator.
*****
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