Yuming's POV

The morning was colder than I expected, the sharp tang of salt in the air stinging my throat as I stepped cautiously out of the tent. The sun had barely risen, casting pale streaks of gold across the clearing where the pirate crew was beginning to stir. I glanced at the fire pit, where a few embers still smoldered before my eyes darted to the men.

All men.

They loitered near their tents or hauled supplies to the looming ship that looked like a giant, resting beast in the distance. Every glance they threw my way sent a cold wave of unease crawling up my spine. They looked at me like I was something strange, something fragile that didn't belong in their world—a sparrow among crows.

My fingers brushed the jade pendant at my neck, the only piece of my old life I had left. I tucked it beneath my gown quickly, unwilling to draw more attention to myself than I already had.

"Pull your weight."

Jun's voice from the night before echoed in my ears, sharp and unyielding. He had made it clear my survival here was conditional, and as much as I hated the idea of taking orders from him—or any of them—I didn't have a choice. I didn't know where I was, didn't know where to go, and escape felt like a distant fantasy.

My stomach growled softly, the ache reminding me that I hadn't eaten much the day before. I clenched my jaw, forcing the hunger down. Food could wait. Survival came first.

I steeled myself, breathing deeply as I walked toward a group of men standing near the ship. They were unloading barrels, their laughter rough and loud. One of them spotted me and nudged the man next to him, murmuring something I couldn't hear.

My steps faltered, but I pushed forward, refusing to let them see my hesitation.

"Excuse me," I said, keeping my voice as steady as I could.

The laughter stopped. Four sets of eyes turned to me.

"What do you want, girl?" one of them grunted, his face weathered from years under the sun.

"I'm looking for something to do," I said. "Jun—he told me to ask how I could help."

They exchanged glances, a few of them smirking.

"Did he now?" one of them drawled, his tone dripping with mockery. "Well, aren't you eager to please?"

Heat rose to my cheeks, but I held my ground, refusing to look away.

"Don't mind him," another said, waving his hand dismissively. "The decks could use a good scrub. Grab a bucket and a brush from the hold."

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The first man chuckled. "A good, hard scrub."

"Enough," the older man snapped, his voice sharp. He turned to me, his expression softening just a little. "Just do your best, girl. Don't pay them any mind."

I nodded, muttering a quick thank-you before retreating toward the ship.

The work was harder than I expected.

The bucket was heavy, even when I only filled it halfway, and the coarse bristles of the brush scraped my palms raw as I scrubbed the wooden planks. My back ached from bending over, and the salty air stung my skin, but I didn't stop. Every now and then, I caught glimpses of the crew out of the corner of my eye.

Some of them ignored me completely, while others watched with curiosity or amusement. I kept my head down, focused on my task, unwilling to let them see any sign of weakness.

By midday, my arms felt like lead, and my knees throbbed from kneeling on the hard deck. A shadow fell over me, and I glanced up to see one of the younger crew members—a boy who couldn't have been much older than me—holding out a piece of bread and a tin cup of water.

"You'll work yourself into the ground if you don't eat," he said, his voice quiet and kind.

I hesitated, unsure if I could trust him, but my hunger won out. I took the bread and water with a small nod of thanks, eating quickly before returning to my work.

Later in the day, one of the older men gestured for me to join him near the nets, which had been spread out across the deck.

"They're torn," he explained, pointing to the frayed ropes. "We'll need them patched before the next haul. Can you sew?"

"Yes," I said softly. Well, at least I thought I could.

"Good. Sit here."

He handed me a large needle and a coil of twine, showing me how to weave the repairs. The work was tedious, my fingers fumbling at first, but I caught on quickly. He didn't speak much, and I was grateful for the silence.

By the time the sun began to set, I was sent to the small kitchen below deck. The cook, a burly man with a long scar down his cheek, grunted in acknowledgment as I entered.

"Wash those," he said, nodding toward a pile of dirty pots and pans.

I set to work without complaint, my arms aching from the day's labor. The smell of stew simmering in a large pot made my stomach growl, but I didn't dare ask for food.

To my surprise, the cook slid a bowl of the stew toward me when I finished. I stared at it, unsure if it was really meant for me.

"Well, don't just stand there," he grunted. "Eat. You've earned it."

I murmured a quiet thank-you, the warmth of the food soothing my tired body as I ate in silence.

Jun had been watching me all day.

I didn't see him often, but I could feel his gaze on me, sharp and assessing. It unnerved me, though I wasn't sure why. He kept his distance, observing quietly as I moved from task to task.

What was he thinking?

I pushed the thought aside as I stood on the deck that evening, staring out at the dark sea. The air was cool, and the gentle rocking of the ship was almost soothing.

But I didn't know where to sleep.

The idea of sharing a tent with Jun made my skin crawl. He'd said he would protect me, but that didn't mean I trusted him. He was a pirate, after all—a stranger. And even if he didn't seem as cruel as the rest of the crew, he was still dangerous.

My gaze drifted to the deck, where crates were stacked near the stern, covered by a large white cloth.

It wasn't much, but it would do.

I curled up in the corner, tucking myself close to the crates. The fabric was coarse and rough, but it shielded me from the night's chill. I pulled a corner of the cloth over my shoulders, trying to make myself as small as possible.

Every muscle in my body ached, protesting the strain I'd put it through that day. But exhaustion was stronger than discomfort, and despite the hardness of the deck beneath me, my eyelids grew heavy.

As the gentle creaking of the ship filled my ears, I let myself drift into sleep, my fingers clutching the edge of the cloth like a lifeline.

For the first time since I'd been taken, I dreamed of home.