Before I can protest, she’s started off down the hall. I jog after her, trying to form a counterargument. Swift can’t be serious about this. She can’t actually expect that I—

But no, she’s hauling open a hatch and stepping into a dimly lit, cramped room. It’s consumed by the bed built into one wall, the floor carpeted by scattered clothes, a few drawers jutting out haphazardly. The room couldn’t look more like her if it tried.

“I’m not sleeping on your nasty-ass floor,” I warn her.

“No,” she agrees. “You aren’t.”

My gaze drops to the bed.

I hate how much sense it makes. No one’s going to cut my throat with Swift sleeping three inches away. And if she’s scared I’m going to try taking the easy way out again, there’s no way I could get away with it without her noticing.

But first I have to change out of the wetsuit. I tug at the zipper on the collar, and Swift catches on. “I grabbed some stuff from the sunk bucket,” she says, nodding to a sack in the corner. “Was supposed to be for me, but I guess it’ll do the trick for you too.”

I somehow doubt that. Swift’s definitely a size bigger than me. I peer into the bag of clothes, pulling out a striped T-shirt and a pair of gym shorts. That might work. But underwear is another matter entirely—every bra Swift grabbed is two cup sizes too big.

She rolls her eyes when she sees me wrinkle my nose. “Didn’t know I was shopping for two. Don’t blame m—”

“I blame you.”

I decide to just go without, for now. Turning my back to Swift, I unzip my wetsuit and peel it off. The neoprene feels like it might take some of my skin with it, and I wince. I probably shouldn’t have left it on for so long, but I didn’t have a choice. I strip off my bikini top and cram the shirt hastily over my head, glancing over my shoulder when I’ve got it safely on.

Swift stands with her arms folded, her back to me.

I didn’t expect her to be considerate.

I guess she’s just a walking, talking division of self. In front of her peers, in front of the captain, she’s an entirely different person. She puts on this big-shot persona to scare off anyone who dares run up against her. But it seems like I’m not a threat worth her mask.

I finish changing and ball up my wetsuit. This used to be my uniform, a sign that I was trained to command monsters. Now it’s just a hunk of neoprene and fabric that smells of sea and blood. I pitch it into the corner, adding to the heaps of dirty laundry.