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The storm came suddenly, like a fist pounding from the heavens.

Winds tore at the sails as the sea turned black, heaving the ship up and down in violent rhythm. Rain slashed the deck, mixing with shouts and the creaking of old wood. Somewhere above, Khalid bellowed orders with a voice worn by grief, but still commanding.

Below deck, Alya held Amira tightly as Ilham tried to shield Umm al Kabira with a thin blanket. The old woman sat hunched in the corner, murmuring quiet du'as, her hands trembling but her voice steady as stone.

Tariq clung to a pillar, his knuckles white, eyes wide and haunted. He'd seen storms before. But not this. Not after Tartus.

A crash. Then silence. Then a second crash — louder. The ship tilted so sharply that Alya nearly slipped, her back slamming into the wooden wall.

"They're going to die up there!" Amira cried.

"They won't," Alya whispered. "Zayd is with them."

Just as the words left her mouth, the door burst open, and the wind flooded in. Zayd stood there, soaked through, blood at his temple, but upright. Samir and Khalid followed close behind, dragging a dripping sail and a barrel tied with rope.

"We have to move," Zayd said. His voice was calm, firm. "This part of the ship might not hold if the mast snaps. There's an empty storeroom. Come. Quickly."

Ilham helped Umm al Kabira up. Alya wrapped an arm around her, and together they moved.

As they climbed the narrow stair to the storeroom, the storm groaned all around them like a wounded beast. Zayd carried Tariq in his arms — the boy was shivering, whispering the names of those he'd lost. Samir stayed close to Khalid, who walked with a heavy limp.

The storeroom was dark and reeking of oil, but dry.

"This is better," Zayd muttered. "We’ll make it work."

They settled in, spreading cloths over the floor. Alya helped secure Umm al Kabira against the wall with cushions, whispering to her in a tone that surprised even herself — calm, protective. Strong.

Hours passed. Or maybe more. The storm eased, slowly. The sea groaned less. Tariq finally slept, curled beside Khalid.

---

The hunger was unbearable. Not just for her — she could see it in the way Amira's eyes lingered on Ilham's empty hands, in the way Umm al Kabira moved slower each day. Alya knew she had to go.

“I’m going,” she whispered to Amira, rising from the wooden floor of the dim cabin. Her legs ached, stiff from sleeping on boards for nights .

She slipped through the narrow door without a sound, the familiar shadows of the lower deck swallowing her whole. She moved quickly, barefoot and light. The lanterns above flickered faintly, casting long stretches of darkness where the light refused to reach.

As she reached the front storeroom, she paused. The small barrel was there — the one they had mentioned. It hadn’t been there the day before. Her heart pounded. It could be genuine. It could be the trap.

She knelt, slowly lifting the lid.

Inside were a few strips of dried meat, a handful of dates, and a small skin of water. Enough for her to grab something and leave. But the silence behind her was wrong. Heavy. Still. Again that feeling, like someone watching just behind the curve of vision.

She turned her head slightly — too late.

A hand seized her shoulder, yanked her up, and slammed her back against the wooden wall.

“Thief,” a voice hissed in her ear.

Abdullah.

He drew his blade, pressing it against her throat. “Thought we wouldn’t notice, didn’t you? You think you can keep sneaking around this ship, taking what you want?”

Her breath caught. She didn’t dare move. The metal was cold against her skin.

“You’ll answer for this.”

Another voice cut through the stillness. Calm. Firm.

“Let her go.”

Abdullah turned his head slightly. “She’s been stealing.”

“I said let her go.”

Zayd’s voice was low but resolute. He was standing there, eyes dark with something unreadable.

Abdullah hesitated, then stepped back. “Fine. You deal with her.”

Zayd didn’t look at her at first. He lowered his gaze, as he always did, and said quietly, “Come.”

She followed him in silence, her heart still thundering. Not from fear — or not just fear — but something more tangled. Something she couldn’t name.

He led her not back to the women’s quarters, but to the open storage room, where no one slept. The moonlight seeped through a thin porthole, lighting the wooden floor between them.

Zayd didn’t look at her yet. He folded his arms, then finally said, “I don’t think you meant harm.”

She opened her mouth, but he held up a hand.

“I know you were hiding. I know there are more of you. I’ve known since the second day. We all have.”

That stunned her into silence.

“But you were scared,” he continued. “And you had your reasons.”

He glanced up, just once. His eyes were deep, but not angry. Searching. Curious.

“I’m not here to expose you. I’m here to say this: We can’t live like this anymore. Not split, not silent. We’re barely surviving.”

He took a breath, lowered his voice even more. “Umm al Kabira needs light. She needs space to breathe. You all do. Come up. Move into the back quarters with us. There’s room. We’ll keep it decent. We’ll divide the space. But enough of this fear. It’s time.”

Alya didn’t answer at first. She still couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe he had known — and hadn’t said anything. Couldn’t believe he’d stood up to Abdullah like that.

“And if they don’t agree?” she asked.

“I’ll make sure they do.”

He said it so simply, so firmly, that she almost believed him.

“I’ll speak to them in the morning. For now, take this.” He handed her a cloth-wrapped bundle — a few of the dates, a bit of bread.

“And go,” he said gently. “Before Abdullah changes his mind.”

She nodded, clutching the bundle to her chest. As she turned to go, she whispered, “Thank you.”

But he was already looking away, his gaze respectfully lowered again.