Page 46 of Autumn L.A.W

“Do you want the top bunk?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, easily.

He nodded once, as if he’d known that already.

They stowed their gear. Ezra placed a warded satchel beside the desk, the faint shimmer of protective runes dancing briefly before fading into the leather. Sahara tucked a small wooden box under the bunk and pretended it didn’t look like a pirate chest with embedded, weaponized talismans.

The ship jerked, movement shifting from idle fidgeting to purposeful momentum.

They were leaving.

Sahara crossed to the porthole. The dock was already sliding away. The crane faded and looked like it was shrinking. The gulls wheeled and gave up the chase.

She waited for relief that didn’t come.

The pressure behind her eyes tightened, just a little. Not pain. Just awareness.

Ezra stepped up beside her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him through their sleeves.

“Is he still there?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” she said. “Behaving. For now.”

“Good.”

They watched the harbor fade into the gray distance.

Eventually, Sahara stepped back. “I want to see the container again. Before we’re too far out.”

“Of course.”

They made their way to the cargo deck.

The air up there tasted different, like oil and old fishnets, and something metallic that didn’t belong at all.

The containers towered over them in neat industrial stacks. Red. Blue. Green. White. An accidental skyline.

Somewhere in that grid was their cargo. A threat so ancient and unknown, it scared her more than she’d let on.

Sahara didn’t need to see the markings to find it. Her connection tugged like a thread.

“There,” she said softly, and pointed.

Ezra followed her gaze but lifted her hand just a smidge. “Yes. Behind the blue one.”

The contact felt warm and tingly, but safe. If she’d had to make this voyage with Lioness, she’d be losing her mind right now. Ezra exuded a supportive balm, which was exactly the energy she needed.

They stood together in front of an anonymous wall of painted steel that held the one thing neither of them could afford to mishandle.

Sahara let her awareness skim the layered wards inside the container. The wards, runes, and glyph-work hummed under her skin like the remembered warmth of sunlight. It was contained. Stable, but aware.

A faint ripple brushed her mind, then withdrew again. Not hostile. Just watchful.

Ezra didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. His presence at her side settled something deep in her chest that she refused to examine.

A deckhand passed by, nodded politely, and didn’t ask questions.

Sahara exhaled, slow and careful. “All right. I’m done glaring at it.”