Jun's POV

The night was colder than usual, the sea breeze cutting sharp and clean through the quiet. The ship groaned softly as it swayed against the current, its rhythms as familiar to me as my own heartbeat. Most of the crew were already deep in their dreams, sprawled in their bunks below deck or in their tents on shore. I, however, couldn't sleep.

Leaning against a wooden beam near the ship's wheel, I watched the faint glow of moonlight glinting off the restless waves. The deck was empty, save for the quiet hum of the night around me. My thoughts wandered, restless and circling.

And, inevitably, they landed on her.

That little river rat.

She was supposed to be a temporary inconvenience, a distraction at best, and a liability at worst. I should've been thinking about what to do with her next, about what use she could serve until we reached the next port. But instead, I found myself wondering about the expression she'd had when she offered herself up for work earlier that day—stoic and resolute like she'd rather die than let anyone think she couldn't handle herself.

Her small, delicate hands gripping that oversized bucket and scrub brush. The way she bent her head over the torn nets, learning to repair them without complaint. Even the way she stiffened when she thought someone might laugh at her.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. Damn little rat.

It wasn't my business how she carried herself, and it sure as hell wasn't my job to care.

Still, when I saw her today, pushing herself to the brink without a single word of protest, something in me had shifted. It wasn't pity, exactly. Just...a recognition, maybe. I knew what it was like to do whatever it took to survive, to swallow your pride because there was no other choice.

And now she was out here somewhere, probably freezing her little river-rat self to death because she refused to ask for help.

My jaw tightened. I hadn't seen her find a place to sleep, though I'd watched her hesitate as the rest of the crew disappeared into their tents.

Pushing off the beam, I descended the steps quietly, the cool night air biting through my shirt. I scanned the deck, my boots making almost no sound on the planks.

It didn't take long to find her.

There, curled up beside the crates near the stern, was the girl.

The first thing I noticed was how small she looked.

She'd wedged herself into the corner like a frightened animal, her knees tucked against her chest, arms wrapped tightly around herself. The cloth she'd pulled over her was little more than a torn sheet, barely covering her shoulders. Her skin was pale, and even from where I stood, I could see the faint tremors wracking her body.

"Idiot," I muttered under my breath.

I knelt beside her, brushing the damp fabric from her face. Her cheeks were cold as ice, her lips faintly tinged with blue. She shifted slightly, a soft, pitiful sound escaping her mouth.

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She wasn't just cold—she was freezing.

I clenched my jaw, staring at her for a moment longer. Every instinct told me to leave her where she was. This wasn't my problem. She was the one who'd decided to hide herself out here instead of asking for proper shelter.

But even as I told myself that, I was already moving.

"Stubborn little rat," I muttered.

I slipped an arm under her knees and another around her shoulders, lifting her into my arms. She weighed so little that it was almost alarming. Her head lolled slightly against my chest, her breaths shallow but steady.

As I carried her across the deck, her body curled instinctively toward the warmth, her cold fingers clutching weakly at the front of my shirt.

I swore under my breath. This wasn't part of the plan.

My tent was warmer than the open air, but it wasn't exactly a place for guests. It was cramped, and the cot was barely big enough for one person, let alone two. But it was the best option I had.

Pushing open the tent flap with my shoulder, I stepped inside and laid her down gently on the cot. She stirred faintly, mumbling something I couldn't make out, but she didn't wake.

I grabbed a blanket from the corner and draped it over her, tucking it around her shoulders. She still shivered, her body tense even in sleep.

I sighed, crouching beside her. This girl was going to be nothing but trouble, I could feel it. I should've left her where she was. Or better yet, I shouldn't have let her on the ship in the first place.

But as I watched her now, curled up and fragile as a sparrow in the wind, I couldn't bring myself to regret it.

The girl was still asleep when I woke the next morning, her breaths coming slow and steady. The frost that had been biting the air the night before was gone, replaced by the soft warmth of a rising sun.

She looked peaceful, her dark hair spread across the cot in a messy tangle. Without the hard lines of exhaustion and fear on her face, she seemed even younger.

I ran a hand over my jaw, shaking my head. She'd been on this ship for less than a day, and already she was turning my life upside down.

The crew would notice her absence soon enough, and questions would follow. It wasn't like me to take in strays, and they all knew it. The last thing I needed was for them to think I'd gone soft.

I leaned down, gripping her shoulder gently.

"Hey."

She stirred, her brow furrowing as her eyes blinked open. For a moment, she stared at me, confusion clouding her expression. Then realization hit, and she sat up abruptly, clutching the blanket to her chest.

"W-what—"

"You were freezing to death," I said bluntly. "I found you on the deck last night. You're welcome, by the way."

Her face flushed, and she looked away, pulling the blanket tighter around herself.

"I didn't ask you to do that."

"No, you didn't. But if I'd left you there, you'd probably be a block of ice by now."

She didn't respond, her jaw tightening as she avoided my gaze.

I straightened, crossing my arms. "Look, I get it. You don't trust me. But I told you last night—pull your weight, and you'll stay alive. That doesn't mean killing yourself trying to do everything on your own."

"I can take care of myself," she muttered.

"Yeah, I saw that." I gestured to the cot. "How's that working out for you?"

Her eyes snapped up to meet mine, a flash of anger sparking in them.

"Thanks for your concern," she said flatly, throwing the blanket off her shoulders. "But I'm fine now. I'll get back to work."

She stood, wobbling slightly before steadying herself. I resisted the urge to reach out and help her.

"Suit yourself," I said, stepping aside to let her pass. "But try not to freeze again. I won't make a habit of rescuing you."

She shot me a glare before ducking out of the tent.

For the rest of the day, I kept my distance, watching from the shadows as the girl threw herself into the work once more. She scrubbed, sewed, and hauled supplies with the same quiet determination as before, her face a mask of focus.

The crew gave her a wider berth now, though I caught the occasional sidelong glance, the murmurs of curiosity.

"That little river rat's tougher than she looks," one of them muttered as she passed.

I said nothing, but I couldn't help but agree.

She might've been out of her element here, but there was steel in her, hidden beneath the fear and exhaustion.

As I watched her, I felt a strange mix of frustration and...something else. Something I didn't want to name.

Whatever it was, I shook it off.

She wasn't my responsibility.

Not really.