As Code and Chuck step onto the mats, they tip salutes upward, and I spot the captain perched on a stack of crates in the ship’s prow, her son at her side. Santa Elena bares her teeth and salutes back. The boy sits up straighter.

“Slew fights,” Swift mutters over her shoulder, beckoning me closer. “First rule: if the captain says it’s over, it’s over. Second rule: if a crew member calls it, the captain has to finalize the call. Third rule: if you break someone bad, you fight the captain. Rest of it’s pretty straightforward.”

“You ever fought the captain?” I ask.

Swift snorts. “If I’d fought the captain, I wouldn’t be standing here.”

Varma’s lips twitch another notch upward, though his eyes never leave the lackeys on the mats. “Captain took this ship single-handedly. You fight her, you come out in pieces.”

I can feel Santa Elena’s gaze on me even before my eyes flick up to meet hers. She flashes me a wicked grin and tilts her head toward the mats, a question in the quirk of her brows. A hollow, sinking feeling floods me as I understand exactly what she’s challenging me to do.

I pull back into the shadows.

Under the harsh glare of the industrial lamps, Chuck and Code square off. There’s no opening bell, no whistle, no countdown. Code simply leaps forward, and Chuck’s forearm is there to parry. The crack of knuckles on flesh snaps through the hold, and the fight is on.

But I soon learn that a good fight is mostly about waiting. They dance around each other, Code with quick, elegant steps, Chuck with smoothness and deliberation. When one of them makes a move, the other matches it. Chuck has power, but Code has speed. Chuck has endurance, but Code’s reflexes are faster. Her shirt stains with sweat before his does, and on the sidelines, Varma’s muscles wind tenser and tenser.

“Don’t look so moon-eyed, loverboy,” Swift growls, nudging him with her shoulder. “Your princess still has gas in the tank.”

Because the captain’s attention is fixed on the fight, I feel bold enough to speak up. “Is she … is she actually a princess, or are you guys just saying that because she’s … ”

Varma raises an eyebrow, but Swift shrugs and says, “Chuck was the only daughter of the man who owns Art-Hawaii 5. Took to mechanics early. Father didn’t take too well to that—Islander princesses should be running businesses, not sneaking off to repair engines, you know? So when it got to be too much, Chuck stole down to the docks and begged aboard the first vessel she found with an engine that … what was the phrase she used?”

“Felt like home,” Varma fills in.