The Angel’s Wrath

My lungs burned as I sprinted across the rain-slicked planks of the harbor, boots splashing through puddles that reflected the torches behind me. The box tucked under my arm felt heavier with each step, but I clutched it tighter, my knuckles white against the rough wood.

Almost there. Almost there.

Shouts echoed from the narrow streets behind me—they'd found the bodies, found the empty vault. My heart hammered against my ribs as I spotted the Siren's Revenge bobbing at the far end of the dock, her sails already loosened, ready to catch wind.

"Cast off! Cast off!" I bellowed as I pounded up the gangplank, my voice hoarse with exertion and triumph. We'd done it. After months of planning, we'd actually done it.

I burst onto the deck and nearly collided with one of the crew—the new lad, wide-eyed and pale in the moonlight. Three months he'd been aboard, still jumping at shadows, still looking like he expected someone to tell him he didn't belong…