I nodded, unable to make a sound. His hand unfolded on the table between us, reaching for me, but I didn’t take it. Instead, I wrapped my arms around myself tightly, leaning into him. I pressed my face into his coat like I did when I was little and his arms folded around me. I closed my eyes and the slide of hot tears fell down my cheeks. For him. For me. For Isolde.

There was no way to undo it. No amount of coin or power could turn time back to that night in Tempest Snare, or the day Isolde showed up, asking for a place on Saint’s crew. It was one long series of tragically beautiful knots that bound us together.

And the most heartbreaking of all was that somehow, after everything, by some stroke of darkness, I was still proud to be Saint’s daughter.

His chest rose and fell, his arm tightening around me before he let go. I wiped at my face, sniffing, as he reached into his pocket.

The shine of a silver chain sparkled in his fingers. My mother’s necklace.

“She would have wanted you to have it,” he said, his voice uneven.

I picked it up by the chain, letting the pendant fall into my hand. The green abalone sea dragon caught the light, turning into waves of blue and purple. I could feel her in it. The ghost of my mother filled the air.

“Are you sure?” I whispered.

“I’m sure.”

I closed my hand around it, and the resonant hum wrapped around me.

The harbor bell rang out as I dropped it into my pocket. “Time to go,” I said hoarsely. The crew would be waiting.

Saint poured another cup of tea. “You headed to Ceros?”

I nodded, standing. A smile found my lips. “See you there?”

He picked up the cup, staring into the tea. “See you there.”

I pushed through the door, pulling the collar of my jacket up against the cold morning. The village was already busy, the street filled with carts and open shop windows. I set my gaze on the water and walked, heading for the harbor.

When the reflection of violet skipped across the glass beside me, I stopped mid-stride, my gaze drawn across the street. Holland stood in the arched doorway of Wolfe & Engel, her sharp eyes on me. The white fur collar of her jacket blew in the wind, touching her jaw, the brilliant jewels hanging from her ears peeking out from beneath her hair.

She was still glamourous. Beautiful. Even if she’d lost her ring and her license, she still had her coin. She’d never want for anything, and something told me she’d find a way to get back her own bit of power in Bastian. Either way, she’d never have a stake in the Narrows.

She was as still as stone, unblinking, before she stepped inside.