The harbor breeze carried the scent of amber dust and burning wood as Pierre, Raven, and Alyssa made their way toward the Crimson Sparrow. Freedom waited just ahead—the gangplank a wooden bridge between captivity and escape. But as they approached, a small figure materialized at the end of that promise, blocking their path.

Leo stood there, shoulders squared despite his trembling lower lip. His broom clutched in both hands like a weapon, or perhaps a shield. The thin wooden handle was worn smooth from years of constant use, his knuckles white against the darkened wood.

"Take me with you," he said, his voice breaking but then steadying again, like a ship finding its balance after a wave. "Please. I have nowhere else to go. Nothing to stay for." He glanced back at the city where plumes of thick black smoke rose from Valerio's mansion, curling against the afternoon sky like dark serpents. Citizens ran through the streets, some celebrating with wild abandon, others looking dazed and frightened, clutching possessions to their chests as they sought safety. "I don't know how to live here anymore. Everything I knew is gone."

Raven stepped forward, the Master Ledger still tucked under her arm, its leather binding stained with the day's chaos. Her dual-colored hair caught the light as she tilted her head, evaluating the boy. Her face softened for a moment—a brief crack in her carefully constructed armor—before hardening into the practicality that had kept her alive all these years.

"Kid, look at us," she said, gesturing to their battered group with a sweep of her hand. Pierre still had blood on his hands, dried into the creases of his knuckles like a battle map. Alyssa's elegant dress was torn at the hem, the expensive fabric hanging in tatters around her ankles. Raven's own shoulder was badly bandaged, a spot of crimson blooming through the makeshift dressing. "We're wanted criminals, not a rescue service. Our life isn't safe." She shook her head, cat-like eyes narrowing. "You'd be better off helping rebuild this place. Starting fresh."

Leo's grip on his broom tightened until the wood creaked in protest. "I spent six years 'rebuilding' this place," he said, bitterness coating each word like poison. "Six years sweeping up after Valerio while he owned everything—including me. Six years watching him destroy lives and crush dreams while I cleaned up his messes. I won't spend another day here."

"Raven..." Alyssa stepped up beside her, her voice low, platinum blonde hair catching the sunlight. She studied Leo's face, taking in the hollow cheeks and dark circles under his eyes, signs of malnutrition and sleepless nights. A boy who'd been forced to grow up too fast in a world that had taken everything from him. Just like her. Something in his desperate stance resonated with a part of her she was only beginning to discover. "We can't just leave him. Valerio took everything from him. We're all he has."

Pierre stood between them, staring at the boy. His fiery red hair rustled in the salt-laden breeze as he assessed the situation with tactical precision. Inside his head, Valerio's voice spoke with terrible clarity, a logical, emotionless dissection of the moment that threatened to overwhelm his own thoughts.

A liability. Zero combat potential. A drain on resources. His emotional state is unstable. He offers no strategic value. He is a flawed component. Discard him.

The logic was perfect. Clean. Efficient. Each word like a chisel strike against marble, carving away sentiment to reveal the pure, uncompromising shape of reason. Pierre found himself nodding in agreement.

Analyze physical capabilities: Undernourished. Uncoordinated. Lacks muscle tone. No combat training.

Analyze mental state: Traumatized. Dependent. Seeking attachment figures after loss of parental structure.

Analyze skills: Minimal. Janitorial. No value to ship operations.

Conclusion: Reject.

The voice was so convincing. So irrefutable in its cold assessment.

Pierre's fingers found the sea-blue stone at his throat. The smoothness of it against his fingertips felt wrong. Imperfect. One side was slightly flatter than the other. The hole drilled for the cord was off-center by approximately two millimeters.

This could be corrected. The stone could be shaped to perfect symmetry. The density could be—

No.

The stone was perfect because it was imperfect. Because Mika had given it to him. Because it represented something that couldn't be measured or optimized.

Leo's broom was worn down on one side from years of use. The wooden handle had been polished smooth by his small hands. He held it too tightly, his knuckles white with fear and desperation.

A broom is an inefficient weapon. The balance is wrong. The striking surface lacks density. It could be replaced with—

No.

Pierre dug his fingernails into his palm until pain cut through the analytical fog in his mind. He stared at Leo—not at his flaws or his strategic value—but at him. The boy who had risked everything to help them in the repository. The boy who had spread word among the captains, despite the danger. The boy who stood before them now, trembling but unbowed.

The red glow that had been simmering in Pierre's eyes faded completely, leaving them clear blue again.

"What can you do, Leo?" Pierre asked, his voice rough but his own.

Leo swallowed hard. "I... I can sweep," he said, holding up the broom like it was both his shame and his pride. "I can clean. I'm a hard worker."

Pierre nodded slowly, feeling something inside him shift and settle. The logical voice didn't disappear, but it retreated, becoming just one consideration among many rather than an overwhelming imperative.

"The deck is filthy," Pierre said. He stepped onto the gangplank, gesturing for the boy to follow. "Get on the ship, deckhand."

Leo's face transformed. The grief and fear didn't vanish, but they were joined by something else—hope, so fragile it seemed it might shatter at a touch. He scrambled forward, clutching his broom to his chest.

"Thank you," he whispered as he passed Pierre. "Thank you, Captain."

Raven sighed, but the exasperation didn't reach her eyes. "Just remember we warned you when you're cleaning up after a sea battle," she told Leo as she followed him aboard.

Alyssa lingered a moment longer beside Pierre. "You made the right choice," she said quietly.

Pierre didn't answer. He wasn't entirely sure it had been his choice at all—or if it had been made in the space between what Valerio wanted and what Hardy's darkness craved, a small pocket of humanity he'd managed to preserve.

"Let's go," he said instead. "Before Porto Veloce finds a new master."

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