Raven looked from Pierre to Valerio's corpse, then back to Pierre. His eyes burned red, the same crimson glow she'd glimpsed when he'd fought on the ship. But this was different. Before, the power had seemed to consume him from within. Now, he looked... composed. Analytical. His posture had changed, losing the coiled-spring tension she'd come to associate with him.

"Captain?" she tried, edging closer. "We need to go. Now."

Pierre's gaze shifted to her, those burning eyes studying her face with disturbing intensity.

"So many flaws," he murmured. "So many imperfections. I could fix them all."

Raven's blood turned to ice. These weren't Pierre's words. This wasn't Pierre's voice, though it came from his mouth.

"Whatever you took from him," she said, gesturing at Valerio's corpse, "it's affecting you. You need to fight it."

Pierre blinked slowly, like someone waking from a deep sleep. He looked down at Valerio again, then at his own hands.

"I can see everything," he said quietly. "Every imperfection. Every weakness. I know how to correct them all."

Alyssa approached cautiously, lowering her sword. "Pierre, look at me." Her voice was steady despite the fear in her eyes. "This isn't you. This is him. His... sickness."

The crowd at the doorway murmured and shifted. Leo pushed his way to the front, his young face pale as he took in the scene.

"Master Valerio is dead?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes," Pierre answered, his eyes still fixed on his hands. "I've absorbed him. His knowledge. His skills." He paused, finally looking up at the boy. "His obsessions."

Raven clutched the ledger tighter. "We need to leave. The ship is ready. We have what we came for."

Pierre nodded slowly, but his eyes drifted to Elena's body on the operating table. "Poor design," he muttered. "The wooden ribcage was too rigid. It should have been articulated to allow for proper thoracic movement. The amber inlays were purely decorative—wasted potential for energy conduction."

"Stop it," Alyssa snapped, stepping closer despite the danger. "That was a person. A dancer. Not a project."

Something flickered across Pierre's face—confusion, perhaps recognition. He touched the sea-blue stone at his throat, fingertips tracing its smooth surface.

"Mika," he whispered. The name seemed to anchor him. "Safe harbor."

The red glow in his eyes dimmed slightly.

Leo took another step forward. "Is Porto Veloce free now?"

The question hung in the air. Behind Leo, the captains and shipwrights waited, their faces a mixture of hope and uncertainty. Raven understood their hesitation. Freedom was terrifying when you'd been controlled for so long.

"The harbor chain is down," she said, addressing them rather than Pierre. "And the ledger"—she held up the book—"shows how Valerio manipulated your debts. You aren't obligated to honor contracts based on fraud."

A ripple went through the crowd. One of the captains, a weathered man with a gray beard, stepped forward.

"What about the Script system? Without it—"

"You have ships," Raven interrupted. "You have goods. Trade with the outside world again. Real currency will flow back into Porto Veloce."

Pierre straightened suddenly, his eyes focusing on the crowd. "Inefficient," he stated. "The transition will cause unnecessary suffering. I could implement a conversion system. A gradual phase-out of Script over six months while establishing new trade routes optimized for—"

"Pierre," Alyssa cut him off, reaching for his arm but stopping just short of touching him. "That's not our problem to solve. We need to go."

He turned to her, and for a moment, the analytical gleam intensified in his crimson eyes. Then he blinked, and something more human returned to his expression.

"I can feel him," Pierre said, his voice lower, closer to his own. "In my head. Analyzing. Cataloging. Everything is a project to be perfected." He pressed his palms against his temples. "It's getting louder."

"Fight it," Raven urged. "We need our captain back. Not... whatever Valerio was trying to be."

Pierre closed his eyes, his face contorting with effort. When he opened them again, the red glow had dimmed further, though it hadn't disappeared entirely.

"Get me out of here," he said through gritted teeth. "Away from... this place. His workshop. His tools. They're calling to me."

Alyssa nodded to Raven, and they flanked Pierre, careful not to touch his skin. They guided him toward the door, the crowd parting to let them through.

"What about us?" Leo called after them. "What do we do now?"

Pierre paused, looking back at the boy. For a moment, Valerio's cold calculation threatened to take over again—Pierre could see dozens of ways to reorganize Porto Veloce, to make it more efficient, more productive, more perfect.

He fought down the impulse.

"Burn this workshop," he said instead. "Free the people on those tables if you can. If not... give them peace." He nodded toward the ledger in Raven's hands. "And make sure everyone knows the truth. What happens after that is up to all of you."

As they led Pierre through Valerio's mansion, the corridors seemed different to him now. He knew the purpose of every curve, every angle, every material choice. The mathematical precision of it all sang to him with terrible beauty.

"The stone columns in the entry hall are load-bearing," he murmured. "But they could be reduced by sixteen percent in diameter without compromising structural integrity, creating a more elegant—" He cut himself off, shaking his head violently. "No. Not my thoughts. Not my obsession."

"Stay with us," Alyssa urged, her voice tight with worry. "Just a little further to the ship."

Outside, Porto Veloce was in controlled chaos. The plaza bustled with people arguing, some celebrating, others looking lost. Guards stood down, unsure who to take orders from now that Valerio was gone.

Pierre could see problems everywhere. Inefficiencies. Imperfections. The city could be better.

I could make them better.

He pushed the thought away, focusing on the weight of the sea-blue stone against his chest. On Raven's determined stride as she led them toward the harbor. On Alyssa's steady presence at his side.

"The Crimson Sparrow," he said, trying to anchor himself. "Our ship."

"Yes," Alyssa confirmed. "Just ahead. See her red sails?"

Pierre looked up and saw the ship waiting at the dock, her sails unfurled and ready. The sight of her jolted something in him—something that wasn't Valerio's obsession with perfection.

The figurehead was crooked by two degrees. The port gunwale had been repaired with a different wood than the starboard. The mast tilted ever so slightly off true. The Crimson Sparrow was beautiful in her imperfection.

A small piece of Pierre seized onto that thought like a drowning man clutching driftwood.

Not everything needs to be perfect.

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