“We have orders to cut your hair,” said the one with the rope. He cleared his throat and raised the rope higher. “If you resist, I shall be forced to use this.”

I swallowed thickly against the fear clamping my throat. I had an idea what this meant. “I won’t resist.” I straightened off the bulwark and stepped forward, trying not to sway. “Go ahead. Cut it.”

The man with the shears hesitated, then gathered my hair in a clumsy swipe and sliced. My long locks came away in his hand. He blinked like he was confused, then tossed them down and carried on hastily, cutting so close at times he nicked my scalp and left my eyes watering.

As my dark curls tumbled to the floor, years of dance assemblies and fine dinners flashed before my eyes. I shut them and imagined I was feeling Mama’s gentle hands on me instead of this stranger’s. Mama, singing in Spanish as she teased out my tangles with the patience of an entire ocean.

What would she think of this? I’d promised her I’d find a safe, respectable life—and done the exact opposite.

“Why?” whispered the man with the rope. I opened my eyes. The candle on the floor guttered and popped, making his shadow writhe behind him. He licked his lips. “Why are you here? Are you—are you a spy?”

“Shut up, Wilcox,” said the other one. Then he glanced at me like he wanted to know, too.

“Tell me where I’m being sent and I’ll answer.” I already thought I knew, but I needed to be sure.

They shared a look.

“Go on, Wilcox,” said the one with the shears. “Tell her.”

“You tell her, Bradley.”

Bradley lowered the shears and exhaled, his breath sour with the smell of tobacco. “There’s whispers amongst the men you’re going to the Jersey prison hulk.”

My knees nearly crumpled beneath me. Prison. I’d guessed right. But even worse—the Jersey. Where men were sent to die. Where no women were sent at all. I’d be the first one. The only one.

“Your turn,” Bradley said, impatient for my answer.

“No. I’m not a spy,” I lied, though I could’ve told the truth. I’d been caught; the worst had already happened. But I didn’t owe these men anything. Certainly not what I valued most. “This is all just a misunderstanding,” I added, and in spite of everything, I felt a smile tug at my lips.

Bradley snorted.

Snip went the shears.

When he was done, I ran my hand over my scalp, learning a part of myself for the first time. I felt sharper. Honed. I could feel the air around me the same way I used to feel the ocean when I dove.

The marine with the rope—Wilcox—stepped outside and came back with a bundle of folded clothing.

“You’re to change into these.” He set the bundle on the berth, then turned away. Bradley went to stand beside him.

I stared at their backs for a moment, letting a wave of fear pass. Hands trembling, I unlaced my gown and petticoats and let them slip off. My stays were back lacing, though.