The morning bled into the horizon, a reddish-orange glow streaking the sky like the last embers of a dying flame. Cronin stood at the rail of the Sunbreaker, his hands rough against the worn wood, watching the seawhips flap their great wings. Their beaks tore into the soft, fluffy scraps of bread he'd scattered for them, their movements sharp and vicious. They always fed with that same hunger, that same restless need, like they couldn't wait for the next bite. He found it mesmerizing, how even the smallest creatures carried that edge of desperation.

Feeding them helped quiet the noise in his head. And today, he needed that more than ever.

The seawhips-sleek, blue-and-white birds with wings as long as a man's arm-preferred their food wet, soaking it in water before they ate. They snapped up the soggy bread with a fervor that bordered on frantic, their sleek bodies dipping low over the ocean's surface as they gulped it down. Islanders always said it was dangerous to feed them; once they got a taste, they'd hound you for more, greedy and relentless. The birds weren't shy about swarming anyone foolish enough to let them.

But Cronin didn't care. He didn't have anything else to lose. His stolen bread from last night's dining hall raid was better off with the seawhips than molding in his pocket. He grimaced at the thought of the overseer catching him, though. If he was found feeding the birds, there'd be hell to pay-literally. The man had eyes everywhere, and he'd deduct from Cronin's already slim wages just for being wasteful.

The sea roared beneath him, crashing against the ship's hull. The Sunbreaker, even for a ship of its class, was enormous, its deck stretching the length of several fields. He could feel the waves pounding against the ship's sides, the rise and fall of the ocean a constant reminder of how small he was.

The sound was relentless, like the water was trying to shake him awake. Or drown him in its insistence.

But he welcomed it. Anything to keep his mind off the one truth he couldn't ignore. He was a coward.

Apollo was going to trial today. It didn't matter that Cronin had seen it coming-the man had brought it on himself, as usual. Always running off to help people like a damn fool, never thinking about the consequences. All those books, all those notes, and Apollo still hadn't learned when to keep his head down. Some genius, Cronin thought bitterly, biting his lip as another wave smashed against the ship, sending saltwater spraying across the deck. He could taste the brine on his tongue, a sharp reminder of the world he lived in, the world he was trapped in.

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He hated himself more with each passing thought. He wasn't like Apollo. He didn't have that kind of bravery, the reckless nobility that made people love him and hate him in equal measure. Cronin clung to people like Apollo, a parasite leeching off their courage because he had none of his own. It was easier that way, safer. But it also meant he couldn't run when things got hard. He had to stand there, frozen, watching as the people around him took the fall for things he'd never be bold enough to risk.

The seawhips had finished the soggy bread, their blue and white wings carrying them off into the sky, their bodies fading into the pale morning mist. Cronin watched them disappear, their shapes growing smaller and smaller until they were little more than dark specks against the horizon.

Everything in this world seemed to want to hide. Almost every creature he'd ever seen had some instinct, some need to blend into its surroundings. To disappear. The seawhips were no different. They flew high, out of sight, as if the world itself would swallow them up if they lingered too long.

Cronin chuckled, but it was a hollow sound, filled with more bitterness than mirth. He was spending too much time around Apollo, that was certain. The man was starting to rub off on him, making him think too much. And thinking hurt. It hurt worse than any punishment the overseer could dole out.

Thinking reminded him of what he was. What he'd never be.

With a grunt, Cronin stood, his muscles stiff from leaning on the rail for too long. Apollo's trial would begin soon. It wasn't often Captain Yuinin held formal trials, but when he did, the outcome was always final. And Cronin knew all too well what it was like to stand before the captain.

He'd faced him once, years ago, when he was still new to the ship. It had been the worst day of his life, the man's cold eyes tearing through him, seeing every fault, every weakness, as if Cronin's soul was laid bare for inspection. He hadn't been the same since.

Apollo was in for something much worse, and Cronin knew it. The captain had a special disdain for people like him-people who couldn't follow orders, who thought they knew better. He wouldn't be kind. Whatever punishment he had in store, it would be brutal. And final.

But Cronin had to be there. He wasn't much of a friend, but he was all Apollo had. And no matter how much he hated himself for it, no matter how much he knew he didn't deserve someone like Apollo in his life, he had to be there. At the very least, he owed him that.

The sun had fully risen now, blazing hot in the sky, its light turning the ocean from a dark, foreboding gray to a shimmering blue. The waves had calmed, no longer smashing against the Sunbreaker with the same fury, but lapping gently at its sides. The seawhips were gone, their shadows swallowed by the endless expanse of the sea.

Cronin's gaze lingered on the horizon, a wistful ache gnawing at him. It was a foolish thought-childish, really-but in that moment, as he watched the seawhips fly away, he wished he could join them.

Just spread his wings and soar into the sky, far from the ship, far from the punishments, the endless chains of his thoughts.

If only he could fly.