In the aftermath, the Acheron was taken, but the victory felt hollow in the salt air. Stephen was below, his hands stained red, saving the men Jack had sent into the fire.

As the sun set, bleeding crimson over the Pacific, Jack and Stephen sat in the Great Cabin. The table was scarred, the wine was sour, but they tuned their instruments. Jack took his violin, Stephen his cello. They didn’t speak of the dead or the distance from London. They simply played a Mozart duet, the music rising above the creak of the hull, a small, defiant spark of civilization at the very edge of the earth.

"She’s flesh and blood, Stephen. Or iron and oak," Jack replied, his voice a low rumble. "And she’s out there, waiting for the sun to drop."