And he hadn’t said anything.

Her stomach twisted like someone wringing out their washing.

He was leaving.

Of course he was. She should’ve known. Hells, she had known. Hadn’t she told herself he was dangerous precisely because he would let her down at some point?

Everyone did. It was inevitable.

Papa. Evered. Even Kat—she’d married and left young Avice with Papa and no buffer against his anger. Mama couldn’t help—she’d had her own struggles.

Don’t submit. Don’t end up like me.

She’d stood up to him that one night. That one time.

And Vice still hadn’t repaid her.

She doubled over, clutching her stomach as the twisting tightened to sharp pain.

Eyes screwed shut, she breathed through it. This wasn’t about Mama. This wasn’t about broken promises. This wasn’t about Avice.

She was Vice. She was here on The Morrigan. And she was dealing with a troublesome pirate hunter.

She shoved everything else into a chest she kept so far down, it might as well have been at the bottom of the ocean, and slammed the lid shut.

With a long exhale, she straightened.

Knighton Blackwood. He was leaving. And he hadn’t told her.

Frowning, she squeezed her arms. Not that she cared, but he clearly thought she’d—what? That she’d break at the knowledge he was leaving The Morrigan in five or six weeks’ time?

“Don’t flatter yourself, Blackwood,” she muttered.

He was clearly so concerned at her reaction, he’d put off telling her. How pathetic did he think she was?

She ground her teeth, jaw aching.

They’d always known this was just a fling. That’s all she wanted, all she needed—a physical thing to fulfil a purely physical need. Well, he’d delivered.

And now she was done.

It was for the best. A clean break, keeping him at arm’s length where he should’ve been all along. Where he’d be no danger to her.

He hadn’t told her. Hadn’t mentioned it, not even in passing. He clearly thought himself such a danger to her.

Well she’d prove him wrong.

And she’d gladly spare him a tearful farewell at the docks like some good little Navy wife left at home. Is that what he was expecting?

Scoffing, she shook her head, arms going rigid at the thought and sending the hammock swinging wildly.

Idiot.

She’d do it before they left Nassau. That gave her a good few days, then she’d tell him thank you and goodbye and wish him well for the rest of the trip, but he could find someone else to warm his bunk, and she wouldn’t give a damn.

Her throat tightened.

No, she wouldn’t give a solitary damn.