The victory blurred into the small hours, then to tired songs and quieter conversations. Eventually the bar emptied out—people heading back to hammocks and bunks they'd thought they might not see again.
That was when the scarred guard came back.
She didn't knock. She just leaned in the doorway, arms folded, watching Gin and Jakk finish what passed for a late-night meal: cold fish, stale bread, and something the barman swore was soup.
"You both still alive?" she asked.
"Debatable," Gin said.
Jakk squinted at her. "What time is it?"
"Too late for honesty," she said. "Good thing I'm here to lie."
Gin straightened a little. "That sounds promising and worrying."
She came in, tiredness etched in the corners of her mouth.
"Upchain pinged us," she said without flourish. "Marren's reports stopped. His numbers looked… altered. Someone noticed. There's an Auditor scheduled to make port within the week."
The word Auditor made the room feel colder.
Even the barman stopped polishing cups.
"They're bringing a gunship and a clipboard," the guard said. "In that order."
Jakk's jaw clenched. "We can show them what happened. Venn's abuse, Marren's forced labour."
"And they will nod," she cut in, "and decide Hull Khelt is contaminated by 'mutinous thought' and needs corrective action. New administrator. New quotas. Punitive reassignment. Maybe a few public executions to get everyone's head straight."
She looked between them.
"That is the pattern," she said quietly. "You know it as well as I do."
Gin felt his stomach twist.
"So what's the plan?" he asked. "Hide Marren under a table and pretend nothing happened?"
"Worse," she said. "We have to pretend something else happened."
"The interim committee has been arguing for the last two hours," she said. "There's only one story that saves the Hull from becoming an example." Her gaze fixed on Gin, then Jakk. "Rogue Floodborn pirates attacked Marren and Holst. Beat up some guards, wrecked the intake room, fled before we could contain them. In the chaos, brave locals stepped up, secured Hydrarchy assets, and are begging for guidance."
Tamsin, half-dozing against Rell at a nearby table, snapped awake.
"No," she said at once. "That's—"
"That's how we keep their guns pointed away from you," the guard said, voice gentle but firm. "We tell them the danger left. We show them two neat, contained names for the fear they already feel."
Her eyes didn't waver from Gin's and Jakk's faces.
"Gin Farcast," she said. "And Jakkon Mirefell."
The words hung in the air like a noose.
Jakk went very still.
"Gin, you told me to do what I want. Well, this is it," the guard said.
Gin's bones thrummed uneasily.
"Bounties," he said.
"Yes," she answered. "The Auditor will want to make a show of it. Wanted currentscrolls. Rewards." Her mouth twitched. "We've drafted the first report. You two are already halfway to being infamous."
The barman's hands tightened around the cup he was holding.
"You want them to sign their names away so we all get to keep breathing," he said.
"Not want," the guard said. "Need. This Hull is barely holding together as it is."
Rell's face had gone pale. Tamsin was pale and furious.
"That's not fair," she burst out. "They saved us. You're going to call them pirates for it?"
"Because that's what we are," Gin grinned. "If telling the truth saves your skin, that seems like a good deal to me."
"I've been called worse things than 'pirate,'" Jakk said finally. "Never officially, though. Nice to get promoted."
"I'm not laughing," Tamsin snapped, tears bright in her eyes.
He met her glare, something oddly gentle in his expression.
"You're a shipwright's apprentice and the bravest kid I know," he said. "You are never going to be the villain in their story, alright? Leave that to people who already burned their reputations to the waterline."
Gin snorted. "Speak for yourself. I've been carefully cultivating my image as a charming nuisance, not a capital-P Pirate."
Jakk gave him a look. "You have a blood-axe and a habit of ignoring laws. The branding writes itself."
The barman exhaled slowly.
"You're really going to take this on?" he asked.
Gin thought of Hull Khelt—ugly, rusted, over-controlled—and of the way it had just, for one wild moment, chosen itself over fear.
He thought of how easily the Hydrarchy could snuff that out.
"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I am."
The barman glanced at Jakk. "You don't have to. You can stay. We could say you were a hostage, or turned against Gin at the last second, or—"
"No," Jakk said.
The word was quiet and solid.
He straightened, bandages pulling on his skin, heat rippling faintly under his sternum.
"All my life," he said slowly, "I've been doing what Marren told me. What the Hydrarchy told me. Every time I thought of leaving, I heard him say my name on that boat like a chain."
He looked at the guard, at Rell, at Tamsin.
He sighed. "This is the last thing I'll owe this place... A clean start."
The guard rubbed a hand over her face, like her bones ached.
"For what it's worth," she said, "the committee hates this. Every one of us... Alright, we'll send the report at dawn."