bright red eyes

Thomas Teach

Eddie Teach

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this is a book of revelation b-side story!

Morning light filtered weakly through gaps between the boards in the Teach house's pale, cracked windows. The world outside existed in fragments, nothing more than a passing shadow or the faint echo of wheels over half-frozen mud. Inside, the house felt smaller than it did the night before.

The acolyte was slated to come back today. Eddie had already been pacing since dawn. He checked each bolt twice, then again, whispering under his breath. The meaning slipped through Thomas's tired mind like thick fog. He straightened the tablecloth, brushed a layer of dust from the shelves, and rearranged a stack of bowls that didn't need rearranging. The air seemed to grow thinner. Thomas forced a deep breath and kept setting the stage for Esther's return.

"We have to go." Eddie's voice broke the brittle quiet. The kid clutched a small bag close to his chest that rattled slightly as he moved. "If we're quick, the acolyte won't find us, and maybe she'll leave... Tommy?"

Thomas didn't look up from the cloth he was folding. "If she doesn't find us, she'll go looking. That would be much worse."

"She doesn't know where we'll be." Eddie's pace quickened now, and his thin boots scraped against the floorboards. "We still have time, Tommy, but we have to go right now--"

"Eddie." Thomas pressed his hand down on the table. The sound was muffled by the cloth, but it still made Eddie stop mid-step. "We're not running."

"W-why not?" The poor kid's breath caught in his throat. "We're not going to just... let them in, are we?"

"Listen to me." Thomas exhaled slowly. "The acolyte's not here to hurt us, Eddie. She's only coming because War still wants to play nice." The kid's eyes narrowed in the same disbelief Thomas saw in his mind as he'd rehearsed this answer a thousand times, but he kept going. "If we play along, we buy ourselves time. Understand?"

"No-- no, no, no, no--!" Eddie's hands fumbled with the bag, the lock, the heart leaking in his hands. "That's how it starts, you start smiling for them, you get complacent, you trust them once and then you're gone..." Eddie was nearly pressed against the door now, torn between checking the lock again and throwing the door open right there. "We can't let her in, Tommy, please!"

"We have to." Thomas's words came out sharper than he'd meant them to. "We can't hide from the acolyte forever."

"She's not going to go away on her own!" Eddie shook his head sharply. "Smiling and nodding hasn't made them stop!"

Thomas let out a quick, bitter laugh. "You think I don't know that? If we do something reckless--"

"At least we'll be doing something!" With every breath, Eddie's trembling quickened.

The words landed hard. Thomas watched the boy splitting open before him and reached forward, forcing a smile he didn't feel. "Eddie, please. Let me handle this. I have it under control."

"You don't!" Eddie stepped away, his back pressed against a wall. "You don't, you don't, you can't, you're walking right into a trap and you don't even--!" Eddie choked on the sentence like a stone.

The floorboards creaked softly beneath Thomas's weight as he stepped closer. "Hey, kiddo." Thomas kneeled until he met his little cousin's gaze. "Look at me."

Eddie's eyes flicked up, rimmed with dark circles and suspicion.

"Have I ever let anyone hurt you?" Thomas forced his voice as soft as it would go without cracking. "Not once. I know what I'm doing, okay? I know you can't trust her, but you know I'll always protect you."

"You can't..." Eddie's voice broke into a pained whimper.

All that came up from the hollow in Thomas's chest was the useless ache of wishing to make things better. The elder Teach leaned in and pulled Eddie close. The boy's hands clasped at Thomas's shirt like he was afraid to let go.

"H-he's going to take you," Eddie gasped, barely forming the words. "Or me, or both..."

"No, no, no, it'll be okay," Thomas's voice was cracking now. He slowly ruffled Eddie's hair as if dredging up the right words could make either of them feel safe again. "You're okay. I've got you. I've got--"

The front door pounded hard enough to rattle the frame. Before Thomas could stand, the latch had already been undone, and War's acolyte burst into the house. The acolyte carried her satchel like a sword at her side, and wore that half-smile that seemed permanently affixed to her face.

Eddie jerked upright, eyes wide. A sound somewhere between a gasp and a sob escaped the boy as he scrambled to his feet and tugged on Thomas's sleeve. When the elder Teach wouldn't budge, Eddie released his grip and bolted into his room.

"Eddie, wait--!" Esther started, then stopped dead as Thomas positioned himself between her and the door that slammed in front of her. The acolyte took another half-step forward, gaze flicking towards towards the door as if she might hear him through it if she got close enough.

"I don't think he'd appreciate that." Thomas's expression flattened to a line thinner than his patience.

"I didn't mean to startle him." Esther backed up, palms open, face unchanged. "I only wanted to check on Eddie."

"Eddie's fine." Thomas stepped forward to close the space between them. "I told you, he doesn't do so well with strangers."

The acolyte's eyes narrowed. "Thomas, I'm not your enemy. I'm just concerned. You both look like you're carrying more than you should."

"That's kind of you, Sister." A bit of tired warmth made its way through Thomas's voice, buried under the weight of his irritation. "But we'll manage. Just let me handle him."

"Of course," Esther nodded, then offered a small, earnest smile. "But you don't have to shoulder this by yourself. The faithful are never alone."

Thomas gave a shallow nod, the sort meant to acknowledge the words without accepting what they asked of him. War's acolyte refused to leave. Thomas refused to move aside. The winter chill slowly seeped into them both as the silence stretched on.

Then Esther adjusted her grip on her satchel, and the professional mask she wore slipped back into place. "Well, I still have a job to do. The department expects records on your recovery."

Thomas made a point of letting the fight visibly drain from his shoulders. "Right. Just as well." He gestured towards the table, slipping on his own mask of normalcy. "Let's get it over with."

Esther nodded and set down her kit. The smell of herbs and smoke rose to fill the air between them. First, the acolyte pressed her fingers to Thomas's wrist-- taking his pulse, allegedly. She listened to his breathing, counted the beats, then made a note in her ledger. "How's your sleep been?"

"Fine," Thomas huffed.

"And your appetite?"

"Well enough."

The acolyte's pen scratched more intensely. "Any pain?"

"None worth remembering. The cough's gone now."

Esther glanced up, studying Thomas with her brow furrowed. "You don't look as well as you claim."

Thomas leaned back in his chair. "Really, I'm okay. Just a bit of a rough day, I promise."

War's acolyte only glared. "I can't help you if you aren't honest with me, Mr. Teach."

The man forced a humorless chuckle and nodded towards Esther's ledger. "Mark that down, I guess."

Esther's pen hesitated mid-stroke. For a second, her expression softened, and Thomas watched her starting to see the act in real time. "Thomas." The acolyte's mask of normalcy slipped. "This isn't sustainable. You are clearly under stress, and Eddie--"

"Eddie is none of your concern." The words came out in a sharp hiss.

"That boy needs help, Thomas!" All the professional distance in the Cleric's voice burned away, replaced with the simmering wrath of War's acolyte. "Every time I see him, he's scared of his own shadow. That's not normal, something is going on--!"

"What Eddie needs is time to adjust." Thomas's gaze flicked back towards the locked door behind him. "Barging in to demand his presence does no one favors."

"So, am I meant to do nothing?" War's acolyte slammed her hands on the table and rose to her feet. "Should I pretend I don't see Eddie deteriorating right in front of me every week?"

A slow, grinding heat formed in Thomas's heart. The balancing act the elder Teach had been holding together for weeks slid out from under him, leaving only exhaustion and the razor thin edge of Thomas's last nerve. "I thought you had a job to do."

Esther's jaw tightened. The acolyte sank back into her chair, shoulders stiffening as the professional mask snapped back into place and her pen scratched loudly at the page. "Have you been taking your tonics?" War's acolyte growled.

"Yes."

Her eyes flicked up with that same suspicious glare, but she wrote it down anyway. "Good."

The rest of the examination unraveled in silence. War's acolyte pulled out a few more tools. A small hammer to test reflexes, a candle stub for light. She tapped Thomas's knee, shined the flame near his eye, checked how quickly his pupil tightened. Thomas held out his hand without comment, kept his eye open even when it stung, and stayed as still as he could manage.

War's acolyte didn't push anymore. Whatever words were clearly forming on her tongue went cold as she finally realized there wasn't any point. The tension between them hummed like static until the acolyte snapped her ledger shut. "I'll note that you're maintaining cooperation."

"Appreciate it," Thomas muttered.

She nodded, slipping her quill into her satchel. The acolyte's gaze drifted towards the door of Eddie's room before returning to Thomas. "I'll be back next week."

"Do what you need to."

War's acolyte hesitated like she wanted to add something, then thought better of it. The door latch clicked. Thomas sat back down, halfway to convincing himself the worst of the day was over, when he heard a door creak open and soft footsteps from behind him.

Eddie rushed across the room like the wrath of a god was at his heels. His eyes were puffy and rimmed red with the aftermath of tears that had since been rubbed dry. One hand hovered low at Eddie's side, sleeve tugged down enough to barely conceal the dull glint of a blade underneath.

"Tommy--!" The word broke out of Eddie's mouth as he skidded to a stop in front of Thomas. "Tommy, are you okay?"

For a terrible moment, Thomas saw a soul his mother's age in the emerald eyes of a little boy.

The elder Teach's own eye went wide, but before he could gather himself, Eddie rushed on, "I shouldn't have yelled at you. I'm sorry, Tommy," and the words tripped over each other like the rush might keep him from crying again.

"It's okay, kiddo. I'm alright." Thomas's throat tightened as he tried not to choke on his words.

Eddie stepped closer to Thomas's side and glanced around like he was searching for something. After a moment, the boy reached for the scattered things Esther left behind-- a chair pushed too far from the table, a dropped scrap of cloth-- and began to tidy up. Thomas watched his little cousin work with stiff, mechanical motions, too careful for the calm mask Eddie displayed.

"You're getting good at this housekeeping thing." Something heavy settled in Thomas's heart as he said it.

"Someone has to," Eddie muttered, but a smile as fragile as glass formed on his face.

Thomas's smile softened for the first time all day. "Hang on." He pushed back his chair and rose before he could regret what he was about to do. "I've got something you'll wanna see."

The elder Teach's heart pounded the whole way to his room. Was it mercy or madness to hand the thing over? Every reason not to do it piled up in Thomas's mind. It was too risky, too soon, too much to ask. But he could see Eddie's small, hopeful smile as the kid tried to stitch the world back together with scraps of love.

Thomas opened the box in the corner. The scent of lavender and wool drifted out like a ghost as Thomas carefully lifted the coat War left for them. Now or never. Thomas stepped back into the main room and cleared his throat. "I... I made this for you."

He gently pressed the coat into Eddie's arms. When the boy unfolded it, his breath caught in his throat. The gift spilled out like a shadow of warmth. Eddie's fingers brushed over the dark wool and the luxurious fur, then landed on the polished brass buttons that gleamed in the light of the hearth.

"It's... nice." Eddie's emerald eyes flickered through a dozen shades of bewilderment, awe, disbelief, and a touch of fear. "Really nice."

Thomas forced an easy grin and a small shrug. "You deserve something warm, don't you? I thought you'd like it."

The boy leaned closer to the coat, studying it closely as suspicion crept through the wonder. "You couldn't have... Did you use War's money for this?"

The question plunged into Thomas's soul like a dagger. He shook his head, smiling too fast for the wound in his heart. "No, of course not." True in the worst kind of way. The words tasted like iron.

Eddie hesitated a moment longer, then nodded and slid his arms through the sleeves. The coat fit cleanly, enveloping his narrow frame in warmth and opulence. "Thank you," Eddie muttered, still half in disbelief. The kid looked so small in it. His small, fragile smile should have made it easier.

But as Eddie tugged the sleeves down over his hands, Thomas watched from the corner of his eye. A thought gnawed at the elder Teach: did Eddie know? Eddie always saw more than he said. He knew about the illness before Thomas ever told him. He saw through Thomas's attempts to hold them together through bravado alone. Even the best liar in the world could never fool his little cousin.

But Eddie just smiled and said nothing, while that unreadable look lingered in his emerald eyes. The hush of fire and footsteps almost felt peaceful in the winter chill.

Eddie awoke with a strangled scream and ice clinging to his lungs. The scream from his nightmare muffled to his chest, trapped somewhere beneath the panic clawing its way up his ribs. Eddie's hands shook like they were being jostled, even when he clenched them tight and pressed them to his chest.

Tommy was there within seconds-- was he half-awake already?-- kneeling beside the bed and muttering soft words that couldn't reach the depths of his mind. No matter how Eddie tried to listen, tried to lean into the sound of Tommy's voice and the warmth of his hands, a cold dread seeped in the gaping wound carved into his soul.

Eddie forced his breathing to steady eventually, but it wasn't enough. The tightness in his chest remained, and every reassurance Tommy offered only seemed to constrict his heart further.

After a while, Tommy's voice softened and slowed, and his eyelids drooped as the night carried on. The elder Teach tried to keep himself awake and talking for Eddie's sake, but exhaustion quickly dragged him under. Tommy slumped into the chair beside Eddie's bed, head dropping forward, posture uneven with fatigue that seeped into his bones.

Eddie's stomach twisted in knots at the sight. He did this. He woke Tommy up and made him sit here again when he hadn't truly rested in weeks. Tommy was always so tired, and here Eddie was, making it worse for nothing.

The room was pitch black when the light in Tommy's eye finally faded. Eddie sat as still as he could manage through his tremors, knees pressed to his chest beneath the blankets that did nothing against the winter chill. The boy watched his own breath fog the air, exhaling clouds that drifted and vanished while shivering so hard his teeth hurt. The longer Eddie stayed there, the louder the Teach house seemed to breathe. The boards creaked with slow, shifting weight. The walls hummed faintly, vibrating with snowfall and the low burn of the eyes of a god waiting just outside.

Eddie didn't have a plan so much as an instinct. He rose from his useless bed like a ghost, careful not to budge the chair where Tommy slept. The floorboards chilled Eddie's feet as he slipped on his boots, then reached for the coat Tommy definitely didn't give him the whole story about. The boy's fingers brushed over the too-perfect stitchwork and the fabric that still smelled brand new. Then Eddie breathed out hard and put it on.

The door gave nary a squeak as Eddie opened it just wide enough to fit through. Outside, snow engulfed every sound and blanketed the world in white that glowed faintly under a pitch black sky. Eddie's breath curled in the air as he made his way towards the place that had become cursed-- or sacred, or both.

The tree outside their house where the eyes of a god never moved looked different now than it had when Eddie dared make demands of the thing that watched his every move. It seemed taller now; its branches sharpened like swords, bark splitting under sheets of frost. Nestled in those branches, blinking slowly in the night, were those ever present eyes.

The boy was still a few paces away when he realized his hands were shaking hard enough to hurt. Eddie curled them tight, stepped forward, and kneeled just beneath the branches. The light of those eyes held steady, watching, listening, pulsing faintly in the dead of night.

"H-hello." Eddie's voice came out thin. "Um... I just wanted to say..." The boy reached for the tone he'd heard adults using in church-- careful, polite, each word wrapped in piety.

"Thank you," Eddie said first, because that felt the safest. "For... for everything. For the food, and the-- the help, and... the other things you've done. I know you didn't have to, I know you were only trying to..."

Eddie's breath hitched. Bright red eyes painted his trembling hands the color of blood.

"I just-- I wanted to say that I understand. Really. You've shown us you can... do... whatever you want." Snowflakes clung to Eddie's eyelashes, melting into cold streaks on his cheeks." And you don't need to show us again. You don't need to prove anything."

W-we're fine." Eddie's voice was wobbling now. "Tommy's fine. You don't have to keep-- you don't have to follow us anymore. Or test him. Or send people to check. You don't have to do anything else. I-- we understand."

Eddie never spoke of War directly. He never mentioned the acolyte, or the gifts, or the journal, or anything else that could break the only reason War had to keep him alive. But every word bent beneath the weight of terror Eddie wasn't allowed to name.

"I'm grateful," he repeated urgently. "I really am. And we'll keep being good, I promise, just..." The boy's voice broke into a raw gasp. "Please stop. Please don't hurt Tommy. Please. You've already won. I know you have."

Eddie's breath hit the frozen air in ragged bursts. The bright red glare held steady on his soul.

"I'm not asking for anything more, just-- just that--" Eddie's words unraveled faster now, one tripping into the next. "Just leave him alone. That's all. Please, please, please--" Pious cadence collapsed into trembling, frantic pleading. "I'm sorry-- I'm sorry, I'm being good, I promise I'm being good, please don't hurt him-- please, you can have me, just don't hurt Tommy, please--!"

A sudden gust tore through the branches. Snow and ice dropped at Eddie's feet with a crackling thud. The bright red eyes sputtered once. Just a flicker, just enough to burst like a flare.

Eddie yelped. It was just a machine, he told himself, but the panic already gnawed at his ribs. "I didn't mean-- I wasn't-- I just-- I just thought you'd understand-- I wasn't trying to sound ungrateful-- I'm not, I swear I'm not-- thank you, thank you, I'm sorry, I'm sorry--!"

The apologies of a terrified child tangled together until they were nothing but sound. The ice in Eddie's breath shredded his lungs in the winter chill as he scrambled away from the eyes of a god. By the time Eddie broke into a run, he was choking on half-formed prayers and promises, boots slipping on packed snow and sharp ice.

The isolation slowly went from cold to crushing.

What started as necessary distance became a prison cell before Thomas knew what hit him. Every time he met Eddie's eyes, Thomas heard those too-small boots crunching in the snow and Eddie's terrified voice in the dead of night. The elder Teach still didn't know what hurt more; the desperation as Eddie pleaded for his cousin's safety over his own, or the fact that Eddie thought he had to face the wrath of a god alone.

Thomas still couldn't bring himself to talk about what he'd witnessed that night. The memory lodged itself between them during meals so silent they pressed on Thomas's eardrums and made him painfully aware of every clink in their spoons. Eddie ate like his mind wasn't really there, eyes always flicking towards the walls, towards the boarded up windows, towards the darkest corners of the room. The only thing that broke the heavy hush now was the scrape of metal against wood from Eddie's room.

Esther's visits had stopped by now, as abruptly as running into a brick wall. War's acolyte didn't come that week, or the one after that. The bright red lights outside their home went dark, vanishing into the snow like everything else. Thomas waited for the tension in the house to ease, but the sound of metal scraping on wood and barely-there footsteps remained.

In a way, the isolation seemed to do its job. The hand of a god reaching for them had withdrawn behind the curtain of snow that buried everything else in sight. And yet, each night felt less like safety and more like being held underwater. All Thomas could do now was keep working until there was nothing left to mend except a little boy's heart.

Thomas pulled on his coat for the first time in weeks with care that felt like a ritual. He was just going out for supplies, he told himself, but the truth sat heavier in his chest than that. The quiet had held for now, but it was as brittle as ice underfoot, and Thomas had the sinking sense that if it cracked, it would crack all at once. "I'll be back before dark," he called, adjusting his eyepatch smoothly enough to mask his jitters. "Someone's gotta guard the fort, alright?"

Eddie hovered a foot away, nodding tensely while his hands loosely gripped the table.

Thomas paused mid-stride and fought not to look back. "Thought I might pick up a few things," he added, a bit more softly. "We can make something new when I get back. Something... nice." Thomas didn't say what it was, because he didn't know-- he never knew these things right away. The elder Teach made it up as he went, the way he'd been doing since his ship became splinters on the harbor.

The kid could always tell. Eddie's eyes flickered with a fragile spark of light. For just a second, the tension in his shoulders eased, and Thomas saw the idea take hold in Eddie's mind. Making something, together, that wasn't about locks or weapons or watching the door. "Oh." Eddie's voice was barely above a whisper. "Okay, Tommy."

"See you soon, kiddo." Thomas stepped forward again and reached for the latch.

"Wait-wait-wait, Tommy--" Eddie rushed to his older cousin's side. "Don't stay in one spot too long, okay? And try not to talk where the eyes are-- take the long way back home, just in case--" Each word came with a gasp, spilling out all at once. "If you think you're being followed, stop-- no, don't stop, change pace, and if you see anyone you know..." Eddie's hands clenched and unclenched at his sides like he was holding himself back from grabbing on. The kid kept glancing towards the door, then the pouch in Thomas's hands, then away, as if looking at either one too long might make something terrible emerge from the other side. "Promise you'll come back safe?"

"I promise." The intensity of Eddie's words plunged into Thomas's soul like daggers. The elder Teach crouched just enough to meet Eddie's eyes and strained to keep his voice steady. "It's okay, Eddie. I'll be careful."

Eddie searched Thomas's face for a breath too long, then nodded again. The sharp gesture felt more like resignation than acceptance, but he stepped back without protest.

Late winter clung to the streets of Salem in layers. Old ice lay trapped beneath a skin of slush from the days when the world couldn't yet decide whether it wanted to be winter or spring. The refuse of the space between seasons was dusted over by a fresh snowfall that tried in vain to make it all look clean. Every step Thomas took found something different beneath his boots, and the pouch of gold he carried felt foreign in his hand. He hadn't carried this much at once in years. Not since...

Not since he was still sailing with Ma, back when coins promised a new journey instead of a tether to home.

Thomas shook his head and kept moving.

It wasn't long before he felt it. Like a candle being snuffed between one breath and the next, the pressure on Thomas's soul vanished. The burning feeling of being watched that had been his constant since Eddie came home with a god's journal and wild eyes was gone. Thomas passed one of the bright red lights embedded in the alleyway walls. Its crimson glow was smeared faintly by frost and the mound of snow covering its hiding place. Thomas looked straight at it and felt nothing in return. The eyes of a god slid past him, indifferent to collateral when their real target was sharpening knives at home.

Thomas forced himself to ignore those eyes the way they ignored him. The market was a siren song at this time of year. Ice cracked and splintered beneath the wheels of passing carts. Vendors shouted themselves hoarse in all directions, their voices sharp with desperate fervor to claw back the losses of winter. Somewhere nearby, children shrieked with laughter and skidded through slush while their parents chased after them, half scolding and half-laughing. It felt like normalcy wrapped in the coming of spring.

The elder Teach moved from stall to stall, letting habit spot what could stretch a gold coin until summer and what would break before the week's end. A musician's table caught his eye first. Thomas's gaze flitted between thin reeds bundled with twine, coils of gut string, and a whistle so cheap it looked like it might splinter at the slightest touch. The elder Teach smiled despite himself-- Clef would have figured out three songs with these before the day was out.

Then someone tested the whistle, and a sound shrill enough to cut glass tore through the air. Thomas flinched hard before he understood why. He pushed his arms back down to his sides and kept moving.

The elder Teach drifted across the market stalls with no fixed route, letting his hands do the thinking while his mind caught up. He turned a scrap of hardwood from a cooper's reject pile in his fingers, testing its weight and grain while the purpose gained solid form. He needed something that took up focus while easing the constant demand for vigilance. Something that moved without stakes, a task Eddie could sink into while the world fell quiet on its own.

A single gold coin slid from Thomas's palm, gleaming with implications the man didn't want to think about. The cooper glared at it, then reached for his box and counted out silver and bronze in careful stacks. The clink and scatter of money broken down into pieces that were easier to explain felt grounding, in a way. Thomas tucked the change in his pocket and bundled the wood under his arm.

The elder Teach was halfway down the alley when the feeling of being watched hit him all at once, in the form of prickling heat and a phantom hand hovering over his shoulder. Thomas looked up and saw Clef across the street, half shadowed by a broken awning and deathly still amid the flow of bodies. The Duchess's child was trying too hard to be nobody at all, bundled in a long coat that seemed torn until it passed for wear instead of tailoring. Clef's hair was tucked away in a tangled knot, their posture curled to a form much smaller than Thomas's memories.

And their face. Relief made Clef light up brighter than a lantern, followed by a crash of worry and the sound of Thomas's name carrying through the streets of Salem. That sight made Thomas forget how to breathe. Gods help him; he missed them so badly it hurt. That face, that voice, that twist in Thomas's chest... he couldn't stand there a moment longer and let himself crack.

So Thomas turned away. He still felt that prickling heat on his back as he pulled his hat down and dived into a sea of huddling coats. Thomas drifted along a knot of buyers arguing over cabbage prices, then slipped behind them as another wave of people passed through. Voices overlapped, sleeves brushed Thomas's coat, and for a precious few minutes, he was only one shape among many.

Only when that phantom hand left his shoulder did Thomas edge towards the back of a narrow stand, half-hidden behind stacked crates where small goods had been shoved out of the way for better sellers. Thomas crouched and sifted through a tray of nails, metal clattering softly against itself as he tested each point with his thumb. He quickly chose the ones with tips rounded enough to bruise before they ever cut, then slid across the stall.

Footsteps found Thomas at the end of the aisle, along with that same feeling of being watched. They weren't quite running, but trying hard enough not to that they carried the familiar bounce where one step landed half a beat too late. Careful in the way of someone trying not to draw attention, failing only because they were overthinking every move.

The sound of Clef's approach threaded through the noise of the market like a fishhook in Thomas's ribs. He pocketed his meager haul and turned sharply in the middle of the aisle. Thomas squeeze between two carts stacked with sacks of grain, clutching his bag tightly to his side as he slipped through the narrow gap. The motion was effortless, and the ease made Thomas's stomach turn. It was the same instinct that kept him and Eddie fed, twisted to disappear from someone whose only goal was ensuring Thomas was okay.

But when Thomas looked back and didn't see Clef anymore, Eddie's voice rang in Thomas's ears. The elder Teach quickened his stride and took the long way home, just in case.

---

Spring crept in like it wasn't sure it was welcome. The last frost thinned into dark, soaking patches of earth that never dried. Water dripped from the roof like rain even when the skies were clear and the sun shined bright through slits in boarded windows. Whatever light Thomas's birthday might have brought with it in the coming days arrived muted, dulled by frozen dread that started thawing with each day closer to the 27th.

To fill the quiet, Thomas worked on a surprise of his own. He hummed while his hands moved in a rhythm that still felt as natural as breathing, even after months of disuse. The materials Thomas had gathered from the market and from hidden corners of the house spread across the table. Thin wooden pieces landed with a light thunk; rough twine coiled around scraps of cloth; dull nails and pots of cheap pigment clattered onto the table. Thomas had more materials than he needed-- enough for every idea that passed through his mind at the market, and a few that hadn't settled yet.

The elder Teach picked up a small knife and began working. He shaped and sanded and tested weights, letting the repetition steady his hands while his mind traveled far away. The rounded shape that formed in Thomas's hands made him think of Ma trying to master the toy she'd nabbed from a bustling shopping district half a world away. "Kōng zhōng," Ma had said, testing the sound, then laughed at how delightfully it rang in her mouth. A vision of Ma that only existed in Thomas's mind spun that toy over the ship's deck, holding the sticks at awkward angles while the edge of the world drifted away on the horizon.

Then, the vision faded, and Thomas's mind landed on a memory closer to home. Tabby's eyes sparkled like gold coins and showed him versions of that same toy her friends carried across time. She called this one a yo-yo and flicked it with a string wrapped around her finger. No sticks this time, just the smooth motion of impossible colors and materials Thomas didn't have words for.

The memory was sweet and sharp all at once. Thomas knew better than to linger on it. He glanced up from carving to find Eddie hunched over a candle on the little desk across the room. From this distance, all Thomas could see was a set of curving shapes and careful lines in a hand too neat for a boy his age. Then, in a flash, Eddie startled, folded the page away, and forced a brightness into his posture like a clockwork doll.

Thomas tasted the saccharine from across the room, but he smiled along anyway and took an exaggerated sip of his imperfect tea. He knew what Eddie was doing, and they both knew they needed it. So they kept going, letting the candles burn too long and keeping their hands busy without loosening their grip.

---

Thomas's birthday arrived to the soft shuffle of Eddie's footsteps on creaky old floorboards.

Sunlight cut through frost and boards brighter than it had in months. Its tentative warmth turned the thin ice on the windowpanes to glass and set dust motes drifting through the air. The smell of something sweet soon followed-- honey, maybe, or sugar turning to caramel in the pan. For a half-dreaming moment, Thomas thought it was the memory of some long past birthday bleeding through his senses.

Then he heard Eddie humming. By the time Thomas made it out of bed, there was a small spread waiting for him on the table. Fresh eggs with runny yolks, a teacup with curls of steam rising to the ceiling, a few rolls of bread drizzled with honey, and a single candle, planted in the middle like a lighthouse on an island of joy.

Eddie stood beside his creation, hands fidgeting with a wrapped bundle while his heart spilled onto the table. "Hey, Tommy. I--I figured since the sun's out and all, and we had a few of the safe eggs left and you didn't eat much yesterday so I thought-- I mean, it's not a lot, but--"

Thomas crossed the room and ruffled Eddie's hair before the kid could spiral any further.

Eddie's cheeks flushed pink when he looked up. "Happy birthday..." He held out the bundle-- a leather roll bound in scrap cloth. It was an uneven thing, stitched in colored patches and waxed twine. Thomas didn't need to open it to know what was inside-- he could feel the familiar weight of what he used most-- but he did anyway, bursting through it to cut any tension Eddie might still be holding. Inside the roll were needles, awls, hammers, and a little whetstone, arranged with the care of precious gems on velvet.

Thomas's heart ached with it, with the hours carried into something so practical. "Thanks, Eddie," he said softly, because anything louder might crack them both in half. "This is perfect."

Eddie's shoulders loosened just a little. As the cousins dug into their morning feast, they knew. Today would be different. Today, they would try.

The Teach house stayed warm long after the candle guttered out. Smoke from the hearth clung faintly to the ceiling, and the air held that sweet drowsiness that always followed a good meal. Melted snow leaked from eaves in slow, patient drips, and no one rushed to catch it or wipe it away.

Eddie cleared the table with a seriousness that bordered on reverence, while Thomas dug out a deck of cards that had somehow survived in a house buried under snow and ice. The pair sat across each other at the table, their shoulders drawn in and knees tucked close in a way that bordered the edge between careful and tense. The motions of the game lived in their hands more than their minds: deal three cards each, cut, turn the trump, stack the rest face down.

For the first few hands, they didn't say much. Cards slid across the table, claimed and discarded without ceremony. Thomas played loose and confident, leading when it felt right and throwing away low cards with a smooth flick. Eddie chose his cards slowly and tracked everything in sight. The kid's gaze flicked from the table to Thomas's face and back again, like he was trying to absorb the moment through his skin.

"You know," Thomas began, breaking the silence casually as he laid another card down. "This reminds me of a game I once played down by the docks. Same idea, fancier cards, and a whole crowd was watching."

Eddie glanced up. "Which docks?"

"Oh--" Thomas's heart stopped for a moment.

Eddie's hands were on his lap now, while his cards lay face down and forgotten on the table. The elder Teach slid a card free-- a three of the wrong suit-- and set it down.

Thomas slid the trump card out from under the stock with one hand, moving theatrically to draw Eddie's attention while his other hand reached for Eddie's forgotten cards.

Thomas's satisfaction lingered in the air as he finally leaned back. Eddie's cards were spread across the table in a smooth arc, face-up now-- the ace, three, and king of hearts, matching the trump card laid above them like a crown. Eddie stared down at the cards, then up at Thomas, his emerald eyes wide and bright with the realization of what had just happened.

"The whole table went dead quiet when we counted it out." Thomas tried to make his tone triumphant, and landed on something more fond instead, like he was still hearing the echo in that game twelve years later. "You could hear the tide hit the pilings off the coast again. And just like that..." Thomas flicked a coin on the table like a poker chip. "The game was ours."

Eddie's smile grew into a wide, awestruck grin. He kept his eyes glued on the cards now, as if they might rearrange themselves if he blinked-- then, slowly, that smile shifted. The kid leaned back in his chair, folding his hands back together while Thomas gathered the deck again. "Was... was this the one from that time you were trying to reach the tip of the southern ocean?"

Thomas nodded easily. "That's the one. We stopped in New Spain for my fifteenth. It was meant to be quick." Thomas let out a huff of laughter. "Turned into a whole thing."

Eddie hummed, gaze focused on Thomas's shuffle, lining up his memory with his older cousin's movements. "Last time, you said it was... spookier. Like the fog was real thick. You said it swallowed the lantern light, and it felt like the dock just kept going on forever once you and the crew stepped off the ship."

Thomas waved a hand. "Ah, details. It was bad weather."

"And," Eddie continued, a little more confidence easing in his voice, "Didn't you say Auntie Jo threw the bait card? That you didn't even realize what she'd done until the locals took the trick and the ace fell into your lap?"

Thomas stiffened-- just a hair. "Now that," he said flatly, "is slander."

"You said it yourself."

"No." Thomas jabbed a finger at Eddie, but he was snickering now. "This is the way I've told it every time."

Eddie hesitated, just long enough to make peace with what he was about to do, then smiled again, softer and sharper. "You just don't remember how you told it," the kid said, covering his giggles behind his cards. "Because you're old."

"Oh, that's how it is now?" Thomas barked. "One birthday, and suddenly I'm ancient?"

"A little."

"I'm twenty-seven, you little--"

Three soft knocks rattled the decrepit sanctuary of the Teach house. Thomas froze mid-gesture, the cards squared uselessly in his hands. Eddie's breath caught hard enough to jolt him back against his chair. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved-- not even to look at the door, as if acknowledging what they'd just heard might make it worse.

Then, hushed voices filtered through the door between the cousins and the outside world. "You sure...?"

A pause. Then, a softer, quieter, Sabrina-like voice replied, "Just leave it, he'll-- when he's ready."

Someone near the door shifted. "Hey, who...?"

"Probably..." someone else-- no, that was definitely Clef-- murmured, trying too hard to sound light. "Don't worry about it."

There was a brief, nervous laugh-- the kind meant to smooth things over-- then the sound of boots crunching away through slush and half-frozen mud. The voices of their friends were gone, and silence rushed back in to fill the space they'd left behind.

Eddie looked up. His whole body jittered with something bright and fragile and almost unrecognizable, at the first proof of people still moving through the world and thinking of them. For half a second, it felt like warmth.

Then it broke. Thomas felt it the moment Eddie did-- the way the light drained out of the kid's face and his excitement curdled into something cold and sharp. The dread that had shrouded Eddie since that terrible winter slid back into place like well-worn rags. Eddie's shoulders went stiff, his hands curling tightly against his sleeves, as if he was trying to physically hold the feeling in.

A flare of irritation hit Thomas first-- he'd meant it when he asked for privacy, dammit-- then Eddie opened the door and cold air spilled inside. Four shapes waited on the porch, stacked with so much care that it almost felt like an apology.

That hurt more than the intrusion ever did.

Closest to the door sat a small wooden box. It was a plain dark thing, with none of the intricacy that would fit alongside its perfect edges and sand-smooth corners. Beside it lay a bouquet of fresh flowers tied with twine, with a bundle and a folded note tucked gently among the stems. Just behind those was a large patchwork bag, heavy with reinforced seams and something soft inside.

Then there was the fourth. A massive package loomed over all the rest, immaculate in a way nothing on this side of Salem ever was. Thomas gathered the presents with more care than he felt and more strength than he should have had for something so massive. The elder Teach's shoulders wound like cords pulled too far, and his teeth gnashed with each step back towards the warmth of the house. When Thomas set everything down on the table, he sank down into a chair and breathed through his nose hard enough to make it pop.

Damn them.

Damn them for remembering. Damn them for making something for him with their hands. Damn them for choosing today, of all days, to remind them that they were not as alone as the house sometimes made Thomas feel. Damn the lot of them for making his chest ache over a birthday he'd tried not to think about at all.

Thomas opened the smaller gifts slowly. Looking at the pieces of his friends' souls turned his heart to spun glass, and any sudden movement would shatter it right there. Eddie added his own to the pile, setting the handmade roll with careful hands before retreating back a step. The kid hovered near the wall while a ghost of a smile tugged at his cheeks but never quite formed on his face. His fingers trembled close to his chest, betraying him even when his face tried not to.

They both kept glancing at the other one.

The monolith of paper and ribbon sat there, pristine and patient, swallowing all the light in the room. Thomas cleared his throat. "Maybe they all chipped in for one more," he muttered, aiming for a casual tone and missing by a mile.

Eddie nodded. "Maybe." The word quivered on its way out.

They didn't mention the pristine folds on the parcel, nor how clear it was that it had never been handled by anyone who'd had to worry about money or time. It hung between them anyway, heavier than the smoke of hearth flames and tallow candles.

Thomas dragged it out like a march to the gallows after that. He turned Clef's box over in his hands, unfolded Sabrina's note twice just to read it again, tugged at the stitching on Tabitha's bag and muttered appreciation out loud. Anything to avoid it.

The ugly part of stalling was that it only ever made the inevitable worse.

Sooner than Thomas liked, there was nothing left to do but open the damn thing. The elder Teach exhaled slowly, forcing composure through sheer force of will, and reached for the ribbon. The paper parted without resistance to reveal not a gift, but an ensemble.

Inside was a suit the color of fresh blood. A horned dragon was stitched across the back; its wings flared in thread of gold that hungrily caught what little light poured into the room. Beneath it, a silk waistcoat shimmered faintly with yet more gold woven through the fabric itself. The sleeves were trimmed with lace so intricate it looked less made than grown, and the black breeches beneath might have passed for modest if not for the neat line of covered buttons marching down each leg.

Thomas set each item aside hoping it would be the last, but it kept going. A pristine white shirt. A starched cravat. Polished shoes with gleaming buckles. An entire powdered wig nested in its own careful wrapping, as though this were not grotesque enough already. To crown the excess, set neatly atop the pile was a gold pendant shaped like the sun, set with pearls that caught the candlelight and threw it back in Thomas's eyes like a weapon.

It was like a gold statue of a man-- ceremonially flawless. The message screamed like a warning bell, and all Thomas could see was a costume for someone neither Teach recognized.

At the very bottom of the box, only visible once the last layer of finery, lay a note. Thomas had to lean forward and reach down into the hollow of the box to get it. His fingers brushed through waxy cardboard and stiff cotton that felt too deep for what it held.

Eddie went rigid all at once, like a string pulled too tight for months and finally snapping. The kid backed away from the table, breathing fast, eyes darting towards the windows. "No-- no, we have to--" Eddie crossed the room in a rush, hands trembling as he yanked the curtains shut. "They're coming, he's coming, he's here--"

"Eddie," Thomas called too quickly, already losing him. "Hey. Look at me. It's just--"

Eddie was already back at the front door, sliding the bolt home with a sharp clack. Another lock, then another. His voice dropped to a frantic mutter, words tumbling over each other-- eyes, windows, too late.

Thomas tried to follow, tried to find something solid to say, but every sentence fell apart halfway out of his mouth.

Eddie's gaze flicked to the table-- to the mountain of gifts-- then he ran. Thomas felt the slam of the cellar door reverberate through the floorboards, then the biting chill of silence.

The house closed in around him. Thomas's hands were wrapped around the pendant. He hadn't realized he picked it up again until the gold bit into his palms from the effort of holding himself together.

On the table, the ribbon lay coiled among the paper and the box from another world, like a crimson snake shed of its skin. Thomas hurled them all into the fire. Paper and silk curled and blackened. Blood red burned into pitch smoke, while gold ink blistered and vanished as if it had never encroached upon their home.

When the deed was done, the elder Teach stepped out into the cold air and let out the pain of four months.

---

Nine days went by, and Thomas felt he'd aged a hundred years.

Thomas found himself standing over the cellar door again, the same way he had every morning since his birthday. He could hear the steady, obsessive, relentless grinding of metal on stone and footsteps on wood, like the house had gained a quivering heartbeat in place of Eddie's soul. That sound, repeating like clockwork, had become Thomas's marker of time for far too long.

Thomas dragged the table out of the way, slipped on one last wooden smile, and knocked on the cellar door. "Hey, kiddo."

The noise stopped. The trap door creaked open just enough to let Thomas climb down and close the door behind him.

The cellar smelled of earth and candle wax and soot and fear. A single flame burned at the end of the narrow hall, throwing long shadows across the walls that morphed into strange shapes as he crossed the cellar. Thomas met Eddie's eyes-- his tiny, wild emerald eyes-- and his soul was cleaved in two. "Can I hold the journal today?"

Eddie's head snapped up. "Why?" The word came out so small, it was barely there.

Something hot flared in Thomas's chest-- anger, grief, a helpless fury that had nowhere useful to go. He swallowed it down before it reached his face. "You deserve a break," Thomas said instead, forcing a lightness in his voice. "You've been... carrying a lot."

Eddie hesitated. He drew his rags closer to his chest. "Are y-you going to be okay?" he asked, too quickly. "What if-- what if something happens to you?"

"I'll be fine." The lie slid out smoothly. Thomas knew-- knew by the animal terror on Eddie's face-- that the kid would hate what his older cousin was about to do. But they couldn't live like this anymore.

Eddie searched Thomas's expression-- for assurance or sabotage, the elder Teach did not know, but the silence stretched into spun glass while Eddie's eyes flicked around, then settled on Thomas's smile. Eddie slowly pulled the sheets from his rags and held War's journal out between them.

It looked like it hurt to let go.

Thomas took it gently.

---