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And he’s the one thing I can’t lose.

But it’s more than the possibility of him dying. There’s also the possibility that I’ll lose him to himself—to the Revenant that exists beneath the fused rings that contain his soul.

“You can’t do that,” I say, my hands still pressed against his healed skin. “What you just did to Evie. You can’t do that, Logan.”

His jaw tightens. “She wanted to kill you. She did kill you, before I stopped her.”

“And you almost killed her right back. On this deck, in front of everyone, without thinking twice about it.”

“No. I thought twice about it. More than twice.” His eyes hold mine, and there’s no apology in them. No remorse. “I thought about standing on the other side of her dome two hours ago, watching your heart stop. Then she looked at you and said she wanted you dead, and thinking became irrelevant.”

“That’s not good enough.” My fingers curl into the torn fabric of his shirt. I’m shaking, and I don’t know if it’s adrenaline, or fear, or the fact that his blood is still wet against my skin and Kieran’s dagger is lying on the deck three feet away. “You’re stronger than every person on this ship. You healed from a blade through your chest in seconds. You used your magic to choke a girl who can’t fight back against air she can’t see.” I swallow hard. “That’s not protecting me. That’s proving Evie right about what you are.”

He flinches, just barely, and his fingers tighten around the chain at his neck.

“I’d do it again,” he says quietly. “If she threatened you, I’d do exactly the same thing.”

“I know you would. That’s what scares me.”

“I’m not going to apologize for keeping you alive.” Wind tugs at his hair—wind he caused—and the morning light catches the blood drying on his shirt.

“I’m not asking you to apologize,” I tell him. “I’m asking you to be better than the thing they think you are.”

His eyes search my face, and whatever he finds there makes the rigid line of his shoulders ease.

“Okay,” he says.

“Okay?”

“I’ll try.”

It’s not a promise. It’s not enough. But his hand is warm against mine, his thumb tracing a slow line across my knuckles, and the spark of electricity between us is making his chest rise and fall with breaths that matter. And right now, I’ll take it.

His gaze breaks from mine, and his body goes rigid.

I turn, and heat rolls across the deck and presses against my skin, making me take a step back. Because Kieran’s standing exactly where he was, his blades orbiting around him, his eyes solid amber, and every nerve ending I have is screaming at me to run.

But Evie’s in front of him. Both her hands on his chest, and she’s talking in a voice too low for me to hear. The bruises on her throat are turning dark purple, and my stomach twists, because Logan did that. His violence is marked on her skin for the length of time it takes a witch to heal, which is longer than it takes a star touched, a demigod, or a Revenant.

Revenant.

Another wave of dizziness rushes through me, and I blink a few times to keep standing.

Kieran’s fist closes around one of the orbiting daggers, and I brace myself, electricity crackling over my skin.

He pulls the dagger down, flips it once, and slides it into the sheath at his left hip.

The glow dies when steel meets leather, and the tightness in my chest loosens as he pulls the throwing knives from their orbit and slots them back into the straps on his forearms. Each time a blade loses its glow, I can breathe easier, the knot between my shoulder blades starting to unwind.

The last two are his swords. He holds them crossed in front of him, still burning white-gold, and his amber eyes find Logan’s.

“For my entire life, I thought the violence in me was a flaw,” he says, uncrossing the swords and sliding them into the double sheath at his back. “But it’s not a flaw. It’s divine. And now that I’ve stopped fighting it, it answers differently.” He turns to the dagger on the deck and reaches out his hand. The dagger shakes, then it’s flying toward him, and he’s catching the hilt in his palm. “Next time, it won’t be the center of your chest. It will be your heart,” he says as he sheathes the blade, focusing on Logan again.

“Noted,” Logan says without flinching.

“Are you done?” Callie calls from the helm. “Because you’ve all been so busy trying to kill each other that nobody’s bothered to make an actual decision about where we’re going.”

My shoulders drop. Because she’s right. Twenty minutes of screaming, choking, and stabbing, and the only thing we’ve accomplished is confirming that everyone here wants to kill at least one other person on this ship.