The Stowaway Part I

Shiro huddles in the corner of the entrance hall, her small frame pressed against cold stone. Children rush past, their footsteps echoing off crumbling walls. None spare her a glance.

A shadow falls across her face. Shiro flinches, drawing her knees tighter to her chest.

"You must be freezing." A girl kneels beside her, draping a worn blanket over Shiro's shoulders. Her amber eyes catch the dim light filtering through broken windows.

Shiro clutches the blanket's edge but says nothing.

"The others were like that too, at first." The girl settles cross-legged on the floor, keeping space between them. "Scared to let anyone close. But we take care of each other here."

Shiro stares at the bread, hunger warring with suspicion.

"Take it." The girl places it on the floor between them. "Sometimes trust has to start somewhere."

"Why?" Shiro's voice comes out barely above a whisper.

"Because the world's hard enough without facing it alone." The girl bites into her smaller piece. "You don't have to trust everyone. Just... give people a chance to prove themselves first."

Shiro's hand inches toward the bread. When the girl makes no move to snatch it away, she grabs it, cramming it into her mouth.

"See?" The girl smiles. "Sometimes people surprise you."

The bread's warmth spreads through Shiro's chest, chasing away a fraction of the cold. She pulls the blanket tighter, breathing in its musty scent.

"I won't hurt you," The girl says. "None of us will. That's a promise."

For the first time since arriving, Shiro's shoulders relax slightly. She doesn't smile, doesn't speak, but when the girl stands and offers her hand, Shiro takes it.

***

The crackle of static from the ship's console jolts Shiro awake. The autopilot indicator blinks steady green on the console, keeping the ship on course through calm waters.

Shiro rises from the captain's chair, bones cracking as she stretches. Fragments of the memory from earlier fade like morning mist, leaving only the familiar hum of engines and the sharp tang of metal.

Down in the cargo hold, wooden planks form a makeshift pen. Fresh dirt fills the enclosure - a luxury Shiro scrounged from their last port stop. Not exactly regulation ship equipment, but Friend needs a place to be... well, a chicken.

Friend pecks at Shiro's ankles as she approaches, golden-brown feathers puffed up in excitement.

"Impatient as always." Shiro unlatches the gate. Friend darts inside, wings fluttering.

The chicken wastes no time, diving straight into the dirt with abandon. Dust flies as Friend flops onto her side, wiggling to create the perfect hollow. Her small feet kick up in the air, beak opening in what could almost be called a smile.

Shiro leans against the railing, a rare moment of peace settling over her usually guarded features. The sight of her feathered companion's simple pleasure brings a softness to her cold eyes.

But the afternoon calm quickly shatters as Friend's head snaps up, her gaze fixing on something in the distance.

Shiro follows her companion's line of sight. Through the haze, a dark shape breaks the horizon - the hull of a capsized vessel, its metal skeleton picked clean by the sea.

"Just another wreck," Shiro turns back to Friend, whose eyes now fix not on the wreck, but on something else entirely.

A clatter echoes from below deck. Metal on metal, too deliberate to be the ship's normal creaks and groans. Friend abandons her dirt bath, scurries closer to Shiro's legs, her usual carefree demeanor replaced by watchful stillness.

Another sound carries up from below - the soft squeak of a door hinge that Shiro knows should be locked.

Shiro descends the metal stairs, her footsteps silent against the worn treads, with Friend following close behind.

A shadow moves near the cargo hold. Shiro rounds the corner to find a gaunt figure crouched behind a stack of crates. His disheveled hair falls across his forehead, and his sunken eyes dart between Shiro and the exit.

"I-I'm sorry." The man's voice cracks. "I had nowhere else to go."

"The door was locked."

"Oh, was it?" He straightens up, his ragged clothes hanging loose on his frame.

"You picked the lock."

"No, I wouldn't-"

"The truth." Shiro steps closer. "Now."

"I needed a ride." The man backs against the wall. "I could work. Pay my passage. I'm good with cargo, know how to handle delicate shipments. Just need to get to the next port."

"Stand up."

The man unfolds himself from behind the crates, his movements stiff and uncertain.

"Your name first."

The man's mouth opens, then closes. His eyes dart to the chicken, then back to Shiro. "That's an unusual pet for a ship captain."

"And that's an unusual way to avoid a simple question."

"Lawrence." The word tumbles out like it's been pulled from him. "My name is Lawrence."

"You mentioned cargo experience. What kind?"

"Various types. Nothing illegal, if that's what you're asking."

"I wasn't. But now I am."

"Just regular shipments." His fingers tap an uneven rhythm against his thigh. "Medical supplies, mostly."

"For Sailfish Logistics?"

Lawrence's breath catches. "How did you-"

"The tattoo on your wrist."

"You seem to know your stuff." Lawrence tugs his sleeve down.

"And you seem nervous for someone with nothing to hide."

"We all have something to hide." His eyes dart to her sleeves. "Don't we, Captain?"

Before Shiro can respond, Friend waddles closer to Lawrence. The chicken settles next to his feet with a contented cluck.

"She doesn't usually do that."

"Do what?"

"Get comfortable with strangers." Shiro studies the pair. Friend has begun a thorough investigation of Lawrence's pant cuffs.

Lawrence stays perfectly still, as if afraid any movement might break this unexpected moment of acceptance.

"You can stay."

"Really?"

Shiro crosses her arms. "I don't need help with cargo or anything else. But cause any trouble, and you'll swim the rest of the way."

"I understand." Lawrence nods quickly. "Thank you, Captain."

Friend clucks in apparent approval, pecking once more at Lawrence's shoe before waddling back to Shiro's side.