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“You… killed all the vigilantes,” the commander says flatly. At his side, his tactician rubs the bridge of his nose with exasperated fingers.
Zihark has the decency to try to look ashamed, but Lethe keeps her head up and her chin jutted out. “We killed all the vigilantes,” she confirms.
“After Ranulf specifically told us not to kill the vigilantes.”
Her tail twitches. “Yes.”
“To be fair,” Zihark puts in, “they tried to kill us first.”
The little black-haired one closes his eyes as if to pray for patience. “Their skills with their weapons were rudimentary at best – you could have gotten away unscathed just by wounding them. Killing them was entirely unnecessary.” He crosses his arms, managing to look intimidating despite how much his commander dwarfs him, and he shoots Zihark a sharp look. “Also, who in the world are you? How did you get on this ship?”
“No, no, it’s alright,” Lethe hastens to say before the man can tear into Zihark in earnest, either with his words or with the tome at his side. She regards Zihark a moment, her eyes narrowed. “He’s, um… with me?”
“Was that an answer or another question?” the tactician asks, his tone biting.
“He’s with me,” she says, more firmly. “He is a friend of the laguz, and he joined the company to help protect us.”
The warmth swelling in Zihark’s chest dies abruptly as the tactician’s face only grows stormier.
“So he’s a friend of the laguz. That doesn’t mean he’s a friend of our company,” the man snaps. “And what are we to do if he turns on us, you stupid—”
“Soren!” the commander barks. Soren falls silent immediately, though a bit mutinously. “If Lethe of all people trusts that a beorc’s intentions are good, then I believe her,” the commander continues, though he softens when Soren visibly cows. “I know you have the company’s best interests at heart, but let this one go, Soren.”
“My apologies,” Soren mutters to Lethe.
She sneers in response, but she doesn’t pursue a fight. Zihark lets out a relieved exhale. He doesn’t want his first night with the company to be celebrated with a bloodbath.
Shoulders dropping, Soren glances first at his commander and then at Zihark. “If you are to be staying with the company, we will need to know your name.”
“My name is Zihark. And… if I may have the pleasure of knowing your names as well?” Zihark tilts his head expectantly.
“I’m Ike, the leader of this mercenary company,” Ike says. “This is my staff officer, Soren.”
“Well met, Ike!” Zihark holds his hand out for a handshake. There are a few awkward seconds during which Ike doesn’t respond at all, but at a nudge from Soren, he reaches out to shake Zihark’s hand.
“Uh… well met,” he parrots.
“And you as well, Soren,” Zihark adds with a smile. Soren does not smile back. “I would shake your hand, but you don’t strike me as the type.”
“You would be correct,” Soren says. “Ike. I’ve given you the reports on our last battle. By your leave…”
“Huh? Oh, yeah.” Ike glances at the sheaf of papers in his hand. “You can go. Thanks, Soren.”
“You are always welcome, Ike,” Soren says with a hint of a smile. With one last look at Zihark and Lethe, he sweeps out of the room in a flutter of robes.
“Sorry about him,” Ike says once Soren has left. “He’s a bit intense sometimes. And… tactless.”
“If even you are saying it, beorc, it must be significant,” Lethe says. Zihark gets the sense that the jab isn’t entirely lighthearted.
“You needn’t apologize to me, Ike,” Zihark says, much more warmly than Lethe. “He was right to be suspicious. It’s not like any of you have any real reason to trust me yet beyond my support in Port Toha.”
“Lethe trusts you,” Ike says with a shrug. “That’s enough for me.”
Lethe stares at him with something like awe, or maybe bewilderment, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Zihark, too, finds himself baffled at the man’s easy trust. From what he understands, Ike hasn’t even known Lethe that long, let alone Zihark, but he’s letting him loose on the ship instead of tossing him overboard.
“I’m gonna go work through these reports.” He shakes the stack of papers a bit to emphasize. “You two get some rest.”
“Will do, Ike,” Zihark says, still studying him curiously.
“Of course,” Lethe says. She and Zihark’s eyes both follow Ike as he leaves the cabin. The boat sways. Its wood creaks. Laughter and footsteps sound from somewhere else in the hull of the ship, muffled by its labyrinthine walls.
“The commander and the staff officer seem like interesting people,” Zihark says once the silence has gotten to be too much.
“Interesting is right,” Lethe says with a sniff. “Ike is certainly something else. But that little staff officer…” Her ears lay flat and her tail swishes anxiously. “Something about him makes my fur stand on end.”
Zihark eyes her. “He doesn’t seem very friendly,” he allows, though Lethe doesn’t seem the type to be so sensitive to mere unfriendliness.
“That’s not it. It’s…” She hesitates. “…well. I suppose it doesn’t matter, as long as he leaves me well enough alone.”
“Prejudice shouldn’t get in the way of letting others live their lives peacefully,” Zihark agrees softly. Unbidden, he remembers the old love he lost - soft curves and soft fur, cold and bloody and dead. The consequences of old fear are shadows that will always haunt his heart.
“I’m going to see if Mordecai is settling in alright,” Lethe says abruptly.
She stalks out of the room, and Zihark closes his eyes against his memories.
Soren is meticulous in his record-keeping.
Ike knew that even before assuming the position of commander, but now that he’s dealing with time-consuming logistical things like money and inventory and injury logs, he’s grown to appreciate Soren’s competence more and more with every battle. Every company member is accounted for and their condition documented so Ike can take any prior injuries into consideration before the next conflict. Every item used, lost, or broken is tabulated in Soren’s small, neat handwriting. Every penny earned or spent is written in the ledger.
In short, Soren is an absolute blessing.
But… however neat and precise it is, it doesn’t help Ike actually understand it. Which is why Soren usually ends up working through the reports with Ike, like he’s doing now in one of the officers’ cabins. The space is small and the desk even smaller, but they can’t afford to be picky.
“Kieran broke his poleaxe fighting the Daein cavalry,” Soren says, pointing out the entry in the inventory log with a delicate finger. Ike stares at the shape of Soren’s nail more than he does at the entry itself. It’s cracking, he notices. Too dry. “We have a steel axe in the convoy that he can use instead, but it’s the last axe we have. It would be prudent to buy at least one extra, as well as another Elthunder tome for Ilyana and lances for Oscar and Nephenee.”
“Sure. Should I make a list?”
“I already did,” Soren replies. He shuffles a sheet of paper out from under the stack. “I just wanted you to know where the company’s money is going before I spend it, Ike.”
“Oh. Thanks, Soren,” Ike says. He nudges Soren’s shoulder with his own, and the corners of Soren’s mouth twitch upward. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Well, I…” Soren fidgets with the paper in his hands. He turns his head, and the candlelight gives Ike a clear view of the color on his cheeks. “I strive to be useful. You know that.”
“And I appreciate every minute of it. But…” Ike frowns at the shadows under Soren’s eyes, made much more prominent by the downturned angle of Soren’s face. “Take a break, okay? You look exhausted. I know Port Toha was… tiring, for you.”
“I still have to double-check the inventory,” Soren protests, though without any real energy. “And crosscheck the ledger.”
“It can wait. We’re on this boat for two months.” Ike shifts to stand behind Soren’s chair, placing his hands on Soren’s shoulders. They feel narrow and breakable under Ike’s large hands. Is he skipping meals again? Ike wonders as he runs his thumbs across Soren’s birdlike collarbones. He’ll have to make sure Soren is in the mess hall tomorrow morning.
“Alright. If you insist, Ike,” Soren says, quietly. Ike gives his shoulders a squeeze – a very gentle one. Some part of him is always scared that he could hurt Soren with anything stronger than a whisper of a touch. He smiles a little when one of Soren’s hands comes up to pat the back of one of Ike’s.
“I insist,” Ike says. He lets his hands slide off Soren’s shoulders as Soren stands, though he frowns when Soren moves towards the door. “Wait, where are you going?”
Soren eyes him strangely. “To… sleep?” he says slowly, like he’s trying not to sound condescending. It’s not a successful effort, but Ike is touched that he even tried. “The company is sleeping in the hold.”
Ike’s frown deepens. He’s already not thrilled that he’s been given one of the officers’ cabins, rather than sleeping in the hammocks with the crew and the rest of the company, but it’s even worse to imagine Soren – private, defensive Soren – sleeping in an open space surrounded by other people. He sleeps badly even when he has his own space. Ike can’t imagine he’ll sleep at all in the hold.
“The company is,” Ike says. He glances at the bed built into the wall. Small, but workable. He and Soren have slept in smaller. “But you’re staying right here.”
“I’m—” Soren blinks. “Ike, you can’t be serious.”
“You’ll sleep horribly in the hold,” Ike says bluntly. “You’ll be useless if you don’t get any rest, and you’ll hate every second of it. We’ve slept together before. What’s the issue?”
Soren’s head jerks to the side, and Ike watches the color rise to his cheeks, curious. Was it something Ike said?
“I… Very well.” Soren studies the wall. He’s still not meeting Ike’s eyes, but Ike’s known him long enough to recognize the pleased crinkle at the corners of his eyes.
“Good. I’m glad that’s settled.” Ike knows people will talk, but people always talk. He’s beyond caring. “I’m going to make sure everyone’s alright down in the hold. You’re going to get some rest.”
“Don’t linger too long,” Soren says. His red eyes fix Ike with a stare so intense as to be somewhat unnerving. “If I am to rest, you are as well. Your eyelid is starting to twitch.”
“Is it?” Ike’s hand drifts up to touch his left eyelid. “Well, alright, then. I’ll make sure everyone’s settled in okay, but I’ll make it quick.” He runs a hand down Soren’s arm in an affectionate goodbye. “I expect you to be in bed by the time I get back.”
“Of course, Ike,” Soren says. His stare follows Ike out the cabin door.
When Ike descends into the hold, he spots Titania and Mist almost right away. Titania sits on the edge of a barrel, polishing her armor, with Mist kneeling before her and chattering happily as she wraps fresh bandages around Titania’s leg.
“Hi, Ike!” Mist chirps. “I’m just changing Titania’s bandages before she goes to bed!”
There’s a coil of stained bandages on the floor beside Mist, and Ike looks Titania over with a critical eye. She’s already taken care of her mount, Ike remembers – he’d seen her brushing him down in the stable area of the boat. Good; she can go right to bed after Mist is done.
“Your sister is a gift,” Titania says, glancing down at Mist with a fond smile. “I’m not sure where I would have been without her after the halberdier got me. She didn’t even flinch. You should be proud.”
The idea of Mist in danger is enough to put a knot of dread in Ike’s stomach. Maybe she could afford to flinch just a little more.
“You’re gonna go to bed soon, right?” Mist asks with a furrow between her eyebrows. “And Soren, too! Everyone needs their rest!”
“Yeah, yeah,” Ike says. “I’m just making sure everyone’s settled in. I know I wouldn’t be able to sleep unless I did.”
Titania regards him a moment, her eyes soft. “You’re a good commander, Ike,” she says finally.
The words weigh warmly in Ike’s chest, though they’re a weight all the same. He lowers his eyes. “Well, I don’t doubt my father would have done the same.”
“He always did the rounds before bed the first night in a new place,” Titania says. There’s something sad in both her smile and in Mist’s.
“Well, I’d better get this done so I can get some rest,” Ike says with a meaningful glance at Mist.
Mist giggles and gets to her feet to wrap her arms around Ike. Ike tucks her against his chest, and before he breaks the embrace, he brushes her bangs from her forehead so he can give her a kiss there.
“Go on, go on,” she says when he lingers, gently pushing him back and nudging him towards the rest of the hold.
It’s not a particularly large space, though people have split off into clear enough groups that there are some understood boundaries between them. Ike swallows a yawn as he begins his rounds.
Lethe and Mordecai are already in their hammocks when Ike checks on them. Mordecai’s tail hangs endearingly out of his hammock, swaying with the rock of the ship; he seems to be dead asleep. Lethe lifts her head with one pricked ear, her eyes a pair of sleepy slits reflecting the candlelight of the hold back at Ike.
“Oh. You.” Lethe tucks her head back down into the hammock, entirely unconcerned. “We are fine. Let us rest.”
“Of course.” Ike nods at her, though she can’t see him, and moves on. She’s a commander like he is. If she or Mordecai needed attention, she would have asked for it.
The part of the hold the three brothers have claimed is obvious from the neat, polished pile of Oscar’s armor against the wall. Boyd looks like he’s given up halfway through taking his off, his breastplate draped over the hammock’s edge and his boots still clearly on his feet. Oscar and Boyd are both awake, though they’ve tucked themselves into their hammocks for the night. Ike doesn’t see Rolf right away; he huffs an amused exhale when he spots a tuft of green hair poking out from beside Oscar.
“Hi, Ike,” Oscar says softly. “It must be dark out by now, right? I hope you and Soren are planning to turn in soon.”
“Yeah, of course,” Ike says. He keeps his voice just as low; he’s been an older brother long enough to recognize the still, quiet way Oscar is holding himself. Rolf has clearly fallen asleep atop him. “I already sent him to bed, and I’m just checking on everyone before I do the same.”
“Sent him to bed. You know, you’re the only one he’ll put up with that kind of crap from,” Boyd says. His voice is muffled, as he is currently facedown in his hammock. He kicks his feet to make the canvas jerk. “Even Mist can’t make him do stuff like that, and, like, how can you even say no to Mist? Ever?”
“I wish I knew,” Ike says with a shrug. His eyes drift back to what’s visible of Rolf. “Will he be fine with you for the night?”
“He got separated from us in Port Toha,” Oscar says. His hand comes to rest protectively atop Rolf’s head. “He can sleep with me tonight. I might end up a little sore, but it’s nothing I’m not used to.”
“Want me to grab him?” Ike asks. “I’ve carried Mist to bed plenty of times without waking her up.”
Oscar laughs quietly. “Thanks, but no,” he says. “I doubt you could untangle him without waking him. We’ll be just fine, Ike. Say your goodnights and get some sleep.”
Ike nods, trying not to think about how young Rolf is, how terrifying it must have been for Oscar, too, to lose him in the chaos of the port battle. He shoots another glance at Boyd as he turns to leave. “Boyd, get out of your armor before you go to sleep.”
“I’m getting around to it,” Boyd mumbles. Ike rolls his eyes.
Rhys is preparing for sleep near the hammock next to Oscar’s, regarding the brothers with open affection as he folds his dusty white robes into a neat square. He moves stiffly and carefully like he always does when he’s on the cusp of another bout of illness.
“Rhys,” Ike starts.
Rhys picks his head up and smiles at Ike, tired but bright. “Good evening, Ike! Are you doing the rounds?”
“Yes, but—”
“Rolf said he’d only need a few moments in Oscar’s hammock,” Rhys says fondly, nodding at Oscar and Rolf. “He fell right asleep. He must have tired himself out in Port Toha, the poor thing.”
“He’s not the only one,” Ike says. He narrows his eyes at the feverish flush high on Rhys’s cheeks. “You’re getting sick again. You worked too hard.”
“Ike…” Rhys sighs, shoulders dropping when he realizes he’s been caught. “Everyone is working so hard to keep Princess Crimea safe, and all I want is to do the same,” he whispers. “I don’t want to be a burden.”
“You’re not a burden, but you will be if you work yourself into illness,” Ike tells him. “Take better care of yourself. You know we all worry.”
Rhys blinks at him, startled, and Ike wonders for a moment if he’d been too harsh before Rhys’s lips curve up into a smile. “I can always trust you to be honest, can’t I?”
“I don’t see the point in anything else. If you’re sick, you rest and you get well.” Ike shrugs. “No one sees you as a burden for taking care of yourself.”
“Well, I’d best be getting to bed, then, Commander,” Rhys says, somewhat teasingly. “You take care as well. You may not be cursed with my frail constitution, but it wouldn’t do if our Commander worked himself into exhaustion.”
Ike nods at him, though he doesn’t leave until Rhys has clambered into his hammock and settled in for the night. He passes by a snoring Marcia and a bright-faced Kieran on his way to Nephenee and Brom, the former of whom is methodically oiling her armor and the latter of whom is speaking cheerfully to—Zihark, is it? Ike thinks his name is Zihark.
“Evening, Ike,” Zihark greets, glancing up from where he’s winding a bandage around his wrist.
“You should take better care of your strays, Commander,” Brom puts in, playfully scolding in a way Ike immediately associates with his father. His heart thuds with a dull ache. “Young Kieran found this handsome fella wandering around with no idea where he was supposed to sleep!”
“Yes!” Kieran exclaims from behind Ike. He’s not speaking very loudly, but there’s something powerful about the way he talks. And a little obnoxious. “I ran headlong into this gallant young swordsman on my way back from feeding and watering my dear Gaufrid! He informed me that he was uncertain as to where he should rest his head for the night!” He loops around to Zihark and claps a proud hand on the other man’s shoulder. “And so I, Crimean Royal Knight, Fifth Platoon Captain Kieran, valiantly showed him the way to the hold!”
“I was only wandering a few minutes before kind Kieran found me, and besides, it isn’t a problem to begin with,” Zihark says easily. He ties off the bandage on his arm. “Ike didn’t personally recruit me. I’d hardly expect showing me around to be the first thing on his mind.”
Ike shakes his head. “No, they’re right. I should have at least led you to the hold before I left you on your own.”
“Ah, and he’s a gentleman, too,” Zihark says. “Really, though, Commander. I would have found my way here eventually. It isn’t as though this is a very large ship.”
“It’s just about what Nephenee n’me are used to,” Brom says wistfully. “Our families back home are in real close quarters too.”
Kieran puffs out his chest. “Why, this is nothing compared to the time I had to sleep head-to-toe and shoulder-to-shoulder with friends and foes alike when we were caught mid-battle in a snowy mountain blizzard and had to take shelter in a cave! Sharing a hold with a company as small as this is a trifle!”
“Honestly, I’m just grateful to have a warm place to sleep at all.” Zihark gestures at the hammock he has presumably been told to sleep in. “Thank you for having me, Ike.”
“As long as you can pull your weight, we’re happy to have you.” Ike nods at the four of them. “Get some rest. It’s been a long day.”
“Yeah, I’m right tuckered out,” Brom says with a stretch and a yawn.
“Mmhm,” Nephenee says quietly. She sets her armor aside.
Kieran salutes. “I will make sure I am rested and ready for any threats that dare infringe on the progress of our mighty vessel! For Princess Crimea, I will get the finest night’s rest I am capable of getting!”
Zihark laughs. “Yes, I’m sure we’ll all sleep well tonight,” he says as Kieran launches himself into his hammock and squawks as it almost dumps him right back out onto the floor. “Rest well, Commander.”
“Rest well,” Ike echoes.
As he finishes his loop around the hold, he’s accosted by an energetically bouncing Mia. “Hey, Boss!” she chirps. “You wouldn’t happen to have any extra rations, would you? Ilyana didn’t get enough at dinner.”
“I’m so hungry,” the Ilyana-shaped lump in the hammock behind Mia mumbles. “My stomach hurts.”
Ike shakes his head. “Soren said we need to stretch our rations as far as we can. Sorry. She’ll have to wait until breakfast tomorrow.”
Ilyana moans in agony, and Mia pulls a face. Leaning in close, Mia whispers, “Boss, uh, you know, Ilyana had a really tough time this past battle, and we’d both really, reeeeeally appreciate it if you, I don’t know, snuck us some extra? On the sly? Soren doesn’t have to know!”
“Soren does all the paperwork. He’ll figure it out,” Ike says. He hesitates when Ilyana lets out another whimper. “…Look, just take some of my travel rations, alright? Just to tide her over until tomorrow morning.” He fishes into one of his pouches and digs out some old jerky that’s definitely been in there for at least a day or two. He figures Ilyana won’t care.
Mia’s face lights up. “Oh, I knew you’d come through for us, Boss! You’re the best!” She bounces up, smacks a kiss onto Ike’s cheek, takes the jerky, and bounds back over to Ilyana’s hammock. “Here you go, lovey-dove! Your third dinner!”
Third? Ike watches with bemusement as Ilyana’s hand darts out to snatch the food from Mia’s hands. “Get some rest,” he tells them as he turns to leave. He listens for Mia’s “yes, Boss!” and Ilyana’s vague noise of assent before he walks away.
Elincia is one of the few people staying in the officers’ quarters instead of the hold, and her room is the last place Ike visits for the night. He takes care to straighten his back and knock softly, trying to remember the finer points of all those etiquette lessons that had never sunk in.
“Oh! My lord Ike!” Elincia says once she cracks the door open. She pulls it open further. “Do come in, do come in. May I assist you with anything?”
“No, I don’t need to come in or anything,” Ike hastens to say. He likes Elincia just fine, but he’s too tired to deal with her never-ending questions and the fancy way she talks. “I just wanted to make sure everything was okay before you went to bed. The room’s fine? You don’t need anything?”
“These accommodations are more than enough for me, my lord Ike,” Elincia says. “Everyone has been so kind to me. Nasir and his crew made sure I had everything I needed to be comfortable.”
“That’s good.”
Elincia touches her lips with her fingers. “Oh, but you must be exhausted after what happened at Port Toha!” She lays a gentle hand on his arm. “Are you feeling quite alright, yourself?”
“Yeah.” He pauses. Her hand is still on his arm, but she doesn’t seem to realize. Ike fumbles for something else to say. “I’m glad the room’s fine.”
“I am in no position to complain, my lord Ike,” she says, quiet, a little strained.
Ike’s stomach twists. She barely escaped Crimea with her life, received no sanctuary from Gallia, and she had to return to Crimea just to board this ship. This is the safest place she’s slept in awhile.
“…I’m sorry all this is happening to you,” Ike says finally.
“Oh, my lord Ike,” she whispers, her eyes gleaming in the dim light of the ship’s narrow hallway. “I am only glad that all this misfortune led me to you and your company.” She gives his arm a gentle push before finally releasing it. “And now, truly, go get some rest. You have more than earned it.”
“Thanks, Princess,” Ike says, trying not to feel too relieved that she’s letting him leave. He pauses in her doorway, gives her an awkward, jerky bow, and hurries down the hall.
He thinks he might see a Volke-shaped shadow around a corner on his way back to his quarters, but there’s nothing there when he turns around.
Feeling vaguely perturbed, Ike keeps walking.
As promised, Soren is in bed by the time Ike gets back to the cabin. The candle on the desk is still burning, low and dim, and Ike fumbles into his sleep clothes before leaning over, preparing to blow it out. He hesitates before extinguishing it when he catches sight of Soren’s sleeping face.
Soren always looks so severe when he’s awake. Grown-up, put-together, clever and analytical and serious. But when he sleeps, he looks like nothing more than a boy. Like Ike. The irritated lines of his face smooth out, his mouth relaxes from its eternal frown, and he looks just as vulnerable as Ike feels.
Almost absently, Ike moves to the bedside. The gentle light of the dying candle casts sharp shadows on the soft lines of Soren’s face, and Ike reaches out to trace them before he realizes what he’s doing. The tips of his fingers touch Soren’s forehead, his temples, his delicate, high cheekbones. Soren mumbles in his sleep, but he doesn’t wake. Ike’s heart swells. Even in his sleep, Soren trusts him – Soren, who leaps at loud noises, whose ever-watchful eyes never stop flickering to the door of any room he’s in, trusts that Ike’s hands are safe ones. Gentle ones.
Suddenly, Ike isn’t close enough to Soren. There’s no one else in the world Ike feels this magnetic pull towards – the need to close the distance, the need to put his hands on Soren, the need to replace all the empty space between them with the touch of their bodies. He brushes a palm across Soren’s forehead to shift the hair aside and presses his lips, feather-light, against the red mark there.
Soren’s eyes crack open, slivers of red shining in the candlelight.
Ike doesn’t move beyond lifting his face a little so he can meet Soren’s unfocused gaze. Soren, not seeming fully awake, slides a hand out from under the covers. It’s languid and dreamlike, the movement of a person caught just enough in sleep that they still believe themselves dreaming, and Ike watches, unmoving, unbreathing, as Soren lifts it, slowly, to touch Ike’s cheek.
“Sleep,” Soren mutters. “You… sleep. Bed.” His hand drops. He doesn’t seem to fall entirely back asleep, the narrow glitter of his eyes observing Ike as Ike straightens to actually blow the candle out this time.
“Don’t worry,” Ike tells him, dryly teasing as he returns to the bed from his venture to the desk. “I bed.”
Soren makes a noise that’s sort of unhappy but mostly just sleepy. Ike tugs back the sheets and slides into the bed beside him, and that seems to placate Soren, who slots himself against Ike’s side with the unblushing audacity of someone who isn’t awake enough to think about what they’re doing.
Sliding an arm around Soren’s narrow shoulders and tucking him more firmly against his body, Ike exhales. They have a long journey ahead of them. He doesn’t doubt the battles they’re going to fight will be much larger and much more difficult than the one they fought at Port Toha. The company is entirely under his care now, along with the only surviving member of the Crimean royal family. He can’t afford to get complacent.
But here, in the darkness of the cabin, with the gentle creak and sway of the boat around him and Soren’s slow, sleeping breaths puffing against the hollow of his throat, he thinks he can relax for just a night.