When everyone was gathered, Sledge raised his booming voice to the young morning. “Our friend Triple has given her life in service to those who still live. We see you, Triple.”

All around, the Blades responded, “We see you, Triple.”

Harwell chimed the bell. The note reverberated in the air, a sweet, solemn song to accompany the lapping waves below and the gentle breeze above. Only when it had faded completely did Sledge speak again.

“She transformed herself from the tool of an oppressor into an instrument of her own power. We remember you, Triple.”

Again, the response, this time with a few more voices. “We remember you, Triple.”

The bell chimed, lifting sighs and memories as it slowly faded. Caledonia felt a hand slip into her own. She didn’t know when Hime had come to stand beside her, but she was glad to have her. She squeezed her fingers in her own.

“She was here of her own consent; no other controlled her. We honor you, Triple.”

This time, the entire ship answered him. “We honor you, Triple.”

Again the bell. And this time it came with the sounds of tears.

Caledonia’s free hand was taken between two rough palms and gently pressed. She knew before turning that the hands holding hers belonged to Amina, but she was surprised to find that she was now surrounded by her crew. Her sisters.

“And we gift you to the deep, where you will transform one final time. In peace.”

As Sledge spoke these final words, Pine turned with his bundle, letting it slip from his hands to the ocean below. Harwell rang the bell one last time, holding the instrument aloft so the sound followed in Triple’s wake, so that she didn’t leave them in silence.

Now Pisces stepped forward bearing four glowing sun pips secured to dishes of blue foam.

“Kit,” she stated, and as one, the crew repeated her name. “Darlo. Genevene. Pippa.” She paused after each name while the crew echoed them. “Our hearts go with you. May you keep us from below.”

Turning, Pisces let each sun pip fall against the waves. Caledonia watched, recalling sharply the moment they’d given Lace to the sea. Lurking just behind that memory was a sharp stab of guilt, a reminder that she had not been there to see Redtooth’s funeral. Or that of any of her other girls who had given their lives in the fight against Electra: Alesa, Quinn, Thatcher, Maddy.

She had missed those important moments, and those gaps had loosened the weave of her crew’s fabric. They were here. They were inviting her back into that tapestry. But she couldn’t simply rejoin their pattern. She needed to create something new. Something stronger.