Venture to Uncertainty (#1)

21 | The Ghost of Uncertainty

Morning did not bring common sense.

It didn't bring regret or lucid thinking. Archer was still very much infatuated with the concept of Silta even as the sun began to filter through the huge window of her room, where the cobalt ocean could be seen, dancing over the glass.

He should probably leave. He probably shouldn't have stayed in the first place, but she'd fallen asleep with her forehead against his arm, long fingers wrapped around his wrist like she was asking him not to leave.

She looked far from dangerous while she slept—like she was just a woman, just twenty-four. For a moment, he could pretend he was back on Orphano, having drunk too much at Shark's restaurant and taken a stunning girl home. Irresponsible, but not deadly. Not the end of the world.

He leaned his head against the wall, closing his own eyes, attempting to stew in the silence. He could still leave before she woke up. He doubted she was a stranger to mornings like this, but Archer had always woken up to the same woman.

He kept his eyes closed. Forced the name from his mind.

Seemingly only a few meters away, a door opened then slammed, causing him to flinch. It was probably just Rusher; from the position of the sun, it was still quite early.

Beside him, she moved, rolling onto her stomach. Her fingers splayed out on his chest, warm and soft. Her eyes flitted open as she propped herself onto her forearms, wincing in the morning sun. She glanced at him.

Her head tilted, and she looked over at the door, amber eyes cloudy and unfocused. Her expression morphed to the last thing he'd expected: confusion.

He wasn't sure what she'd say. Maybe she'd say she made a mistake. Maybe she'd say something witty. Maybe she'd—

"You didn't kill me."

Archer squinted at her, as if the words were blurry or foggy rather than just absurd. "What?"

She propped herself up even further, that hand still on his chest. Her eyes darted around, lips parted and eyebrows drawn. He'd never seen her look that way.

"I was just laying there," she said, talking more to herself than to him. "I was unconscious for hours. You just...didn't?"

It felt like she was speaking a different language. He drew his brows, utterly lost. "You thought I was here to kill you?" he asked, voice careful.

She searched his face, trying to poke holes in his act. "Aren't you?" she asked, bewildered.

"Why would I be on the ship to kill you?"

"Is that not why Farley sent you?" She sat up now, eyes focused and mind clearer now.

He'd known she's suspected it the whole time, but hearing Farley's name in her mouth unsettled him far beyond his control. "Okay, first of all," he began, "you decided to spend the night unconscious next to somebody you thought was your assassin?"

"Well, love, I didn't mean to fall asleep," she replied, and she did look rather perplexed at the fact she had.

Archer shook his head. "Second," he continued, "why would Farley want you dead?"

She frowned at him as though this was something he should've known. As if he were missing something. "Did you know Farley well, love?" she asked cautiously.

"I knew him well," he replied.

She sighed and threw herself back down onto the bed, ruffling Archer's hair.

"If Farley didn't send you to kill me, then why are you on this damn ship?" Her tone was becoming increasingly abrupt and upset. The fact that she couldn't figure his mission out was tearing her apart, like she'd do anything to find out why he was on this ship.