My fingers flew over the newspaper I’d snatched from the wind. Folding it into a square, I tore off the ragged ends and set about transforming the crumpled inked page into something better.

As my mother cried herself into a catatonic coma like she did every night, I sat silently, turning rubbish into origami. My fingers shook as I smoothed the petals of a blooming rose before slipping it gently into my mother’s balled hands.

Wrapping her in a hug, I vowed, “I will fix this. I don’t care that I’m too young to get a job. I’ll find money and a way to fix what I’ve done.”

My mother sucked in a shaky breath, not believing me but accepting my origami rose as a peace token. Her head rested on my shoulder as her tears slowly dried.

She didn’t speak, but she didn’t need to. Her doubt, disappointment, and despondency spoke loudly.

She didn’t believe me.

I didn’t believe me.

What could I do? A stupid boy trained in cello and origami?

As the moon crept over the sky and the temperature plummeted until our breaths became ghosts in the night and cardboard boxes became useless blankets, I stared at the talented hands that’d given me nothing but grief.

I’d been proud of my hands—of the skill they wielded. Now, I wanted nothing more than to cut them off.

But…

Wait.

Holding two palms and ten digits in the New York City gloom, a plan began to form.

I could strum a cord before I could run. I could curl the finest crease of paper before I could write. If I had such agility in my fingers…perhaps they could learn another trade?

A better trade?

One that would ensure our survival and drag us back to where we belonged.

I’d brought badness into our life. It was time to become bad to free ourselves from it. I wouldn’t be a useless brat who only thought of himself.

No.

I’d be a pickpocket.

A thief.

And I’d steal every damn thing from every damn person to ensure my family forgave me.

I shuddered as the memory finally let me go. Cold sweat drenched my spine.

When my life had changed, giving me food instead of starvation and tailored clothes instead of tatty dumpster rags, I’d thought I’d be forgiven. That I’d erase the shame I’d brought on our name and be welcomed back.

I wasn’t.

I wasn’t just shunned—I was given the worst kind of punishment. I was called a ghost. Doomed to be familyless and disowned for the rest of my days.

I’d become lost, just like Pimlico.

And I turned to the only thing that had saved me—accepted me.

Crime.

Petty theft turned to illegal enterprises, and no matter how I tried to untangle myself, I only sank deeper into the sticky webs, crawling further into the underworld.

Each dark step I took ensured I was one step closer to my ultimate goal.

And where I was going, there was no room for a mute prisoner—no matter how much she toyed with my emotions.

Stop thinking about her.

The command echoed in my skull, heard but utterly ignored.

Closing my laptop, I stood and massaged my nape. I needed a good session with Selix in the ship’s ring or a long swim in the ocean. Then, whatever thoughts about Pimlico would vanish, and I could refocus on who I was and what the fuck I was trying to do with my life.

Striding from my office, I undid my shirt as I went. It wasn’t far to the bridge and at this time of the evening, Jolfer, the captain, would’ve signed off, and Martin would be in charge.

He was a safe navigator and obedient.

I wasn’t in the mood for a martial art fight with Selix, but fuck me, I needed a swim.

Heading over the expanse of deck, I peered at the stars above in velvet black. Only the flaming galaxy lit up this place. No city lights, no houses, no cars.

Just the Phantom and her pretty windows dancing on the calm tide.

Yanking open the door, I strolled in and immediately spotted the man I needed. “Martin, stop all engines. Hold position.”

Martin was older than Jolfer and his snow-white hair was almost as bright as the stars. Even at sixty, his face was barely lined; somehow avoiding the crags and furrows that a life spent in salt and sun tended to cause.

“How long for this time, sir?” Martin asked, already pressing buttons and radioing down to the engine room to reverse direction and hold.

“Two hours. I don’t want to rush.”

“No problem. Take all the time you need.” He smiled, knowing exactly what I was about to do. All the crew knew because their boss liked to go swimming at odd times and strange places.

Middle of the Pacific? Sure, why fucking not.

An hour before sunrise when the world still slept? Shit, yes.

I’d swum with humpbacks, dolphins, even a whale shark or two. I wasn’t afraid. I’d hover on my back, cradled by seawater, and watch the sun blink awake.

That was the beauty of sailing.

“I’ll visit again once I’m done.” I turned to leave.

“No need, sir. I’ll send up a lackey to make sure you’re safely onboard. It’s too deep, so we won’t set anchor but will hold position with the engines.”

I understood what he was telling me. “I won’t go to the back. I’ll use the side ladders and avoid any chance of a riptide caused by the propellers.”

Martin chuckled. “I know you know that, sir, but it’s force of habit to warn, I’m afraid.”

I threw him a tight smile. “Nice to know you take your job and my life seriously.” I headed back outside and didn’t bother going back to my quarters to change.