Obsidian Jack crouched behind the leaning boards of an abandoned shack at the harbor's edge. Rain ran down his fur. Through the gaps in the planks, he counted the grey wolf pirates pacing the docks. He had tracked the kidnappers this far, and Yari's attacker was somewhere past this watch. Rage hummed under his ribs like a second heartbeat. He made himself still. Trust the instincts first, Barnaby had taught. The eyes catch up later. The pearl sharpened the night for him. He saw the patrol in layers — the tired one, the greedy one, the one watching the wrong shadow. A stone signal pole rose above the docks, a grey wolf banner snapping in the wind, warning bells ringing as the storm climbed. Their claim. Their pride. Jack waited for the bells to mask his steps, then slipped past two stragglers without a sound. He climbed a huge anchor statue at the dock's mouth and crouched on its crown. Below, a knot of pirates guarded a leather ledger marked with a wolf insignia. That book held names. That book held his answer. Jack drew the curved cutlass from his back. The cat's eye on the hilt caught the lightning. He leapt with a furious cry. He landed in the middle of them. Steel rang. He moved the way he had watched Yari move in the red-leafed yard under Barnaby's voice — feet first, blade after, breath quiet. Two pirates fell before the others turned. He was faster than they understood. He was smaller, lower, everywhere. A huge black wolf stepped forward with a battle axe. The axe came down. Jack rolled under it and the words tore out of him before he knew he had them. "You don't get to keep that book." His own voice startled him — rough, real, his. The black wolf hesitated one breath. Jack drove the cutlass up and took the ledger from the dying hand that held it. Lightning split the sky. Out past the breakwater, a massive ship rode the swells, a wolf flag straining at its mast. Something in Jack's chest pulled toward it like a hook set deep. The attacker was there. He knew it the way he knew his own new voice. He tucked the ledger under his arm, the storm beating harder now, and ran for the water's edge.

Jack stood at the water's edge as the wolf ship slid past the horizon. Rain hammered his shoulders. Anger and grief twisted in his chest. Then lightning cracked the sky, and a memory cracked open with it — the old fishing rig in the barn, half-built, and the hands that knew how to finish it. He turned and ran for the cottage. The doctor was inside with the widow when Jack crossed the muddy yard. The door swung open and the old dog stepped out with a fishing rod raised like a club, eyes wild for another fight. His grip froze. "Don't be afraid, it is me, Barnaby," Jack said. Golden eyes burned in the lantern light, wet with everything he had just seen. Barnaby lowered the rod slowly. "The Cat's Eye. The legend was true." He circled Jack, mouth open, hands shaking. "They have taken her," Jack said. "I must get her back." Barnaby sat hard on the weathered bench beside the door, moss soft under his palms. He breathed once, long and tired. Then he stood. "Then we work." Jack laid the wolf-marked ledger open on his knees. Smudged charcoal names ran down the page in a code Jack could not read. Barnaby leaned close, finger tracing. "Port marks. Cargo tallies. That's a heading, there — a island chain three days east." He tapped a smeared line. "And that name. I know that name. He sails under Greymaw." Barnaby pushed open the barn doors. The half-built rig waited inside, ribs bare, hull sound. "She'll hold," he said. "Two nights to finish. I'll sail her with you." Jack gripped the wet wood and felt the hunt narrow to a single line across dark water. The ship was gone from sight. The trail was not.