“There’s something we can agree on,” I reply, trying to wrest my arm free. It doesn’t work.

Swift narrows her eyes. “Look, I don’t know if you’re keen to how things work around here, so I’ll lay it out simply. Santa Elena picks the best from the ranks to be her trainees. She teaches us the ins and outs of leading this ship and pays us a cut above the rest. And one of us is going to take her place someday. I fought tooth and nail to get where I am on this ship, and I wouldn’t give two shits about you if my own neck didn’t depend on it. But the captain’s gone and made this one of the perverted hoops I have to jump through if she’s ever going to name me as her successor. So if you could just shut your mouth, work with me, and not try to off yourself again, that’d be great. That’d really do me a favor.”

We’re alone in this empty hall, with the captain locked away in her throne room and the other crew members dispersed. I’m starting to pick up Swift’s patterns. She’s a squall, a tantrum of hatred and stubbornness when someone’s around to watch. But when it’s just her—just her and someone she considers so far beneath her that their presence isn’t worth acting for—Swift’s just a survivalist.

I can almost respect that.

Almost.

I feel skewed, as if someone’s taken my values and tugged them so far away from me that it seems ludicrous to reach out and try to grab them again. I can’t be empathizing with these people. Survive, I remind myself. Everything is secondary to keeping myself alive. If I play my cards right, I can escape this boat, and no one will ever know what I had to do to get there.

So I’ll play Swift’s game until the time is right.

“I don’t exactly have a choice,” I tell her, making another attempt to break her grip. She lets me go this time, but her hand immediately drifts down to the gun on her belt. The imprint of her fingers lingers on my flesh, and I cringe.

“Right. Fine. Basics of the Minnow. Follow me.”

I wait for her to grab me again, but it doesn’t happen. Swift stalks away, and I realize this is the first time she’s turned her back to me. She seems smaller. My gaze flicks to the nape of her neck, to the place where a guillotine’s blade would fall, and I spy a little smudge of ink. Her Minnow. Santa Elena’s words come back to me all at once, and in that moment I understand a little bit more about Swift.