Hours passed like molasses through a clogged pipe.
The rookie guard had vanished sometime during the night shift, replaced by a man who looked like he'd been carved from the same wood as the ship itself. Weathered. Scarred. A face that had seen too much to be impressed by anything anymore. He stood at his post with the stillness of a man who had long ago accepted that this was his life, and he was going to be damned good at it whether he liked it or not.
Plink.
The water kept falling. The ship kept rocking. The world kept turning.
And Elijah Sparrow kept humming.
It was a different tune now. Something slower. More meandering. The kind of melody that existed purely to fill silence and drive anyone listening absolutely insane.
"Hmm hmm hmm hmm hmm..."
The seasoned guard didn't react. His eyes stayed forward. His posture remained unchanged. A statue with a pulse.
"Hmm hmm hm hm hmmm..."
Nothing.
From his spot in the corner, Duckworth watched.
Not the guard. The guard was irrelevant. A known quantity. Duckworth had dealt with a hundred men just like him over the years. Knew exactly how fast they could move, how quickly they could draw, what it would take to put them down.
No, Duckworth was watching the pirate.
The kid hadn't stopped moving since he'd finished his little speech about kingdoms and conquest. Oh, he made it look like restless boredom, the kind that came from having too much energy and nowhere to put it. But Duckworth had spent his whole career reading people. It was more than half the job.
And this kid?
This kid was hunting.
Every shift of position brought his eyes to a new angle. Every stretch of his arms let his gaze sweep across a different section of the cell. The bars. The hinges. The floor. The ceiling. The guard's weapon. The distance between them.
Dangerous, Duckworth thought. Real dangerous.
"This is so boring."
Elijah's voice shattered the silence, standing there in the middle of the cell with his hands on his hips, glaring at the walls like they'd personally offended him.
"Seriously. So boring. I've been in cells before. This is definitely the most boring one. No window. No rats to talk to. Not even a decent view of a sexy female guard." He shot a look at the Marine by the door. "No offense, buddy. You've got great bone structure, but you're not really my type."
The guard said nothing.
"See? Nothing! Not even a grunt! The kid from earlier at least had some fight in him. You're like talking to a wall. Actually, no, walls are more responsive. I've had great conversations with walls."
Still nothing.
Elijah sighed, long and dramatic and loud enough to echo off the wooden beams.
"You know what? Fine. If nobody's going to entertain me, I'll just have to entertain myself."
He walked toward the cell door. "Let me guess," he said, reaching the bars. "Seastone cuffs in the storage locker. Devil Fruit registry cross-checked with the bounty database. Standard Marine protocol for high-value prisoners."
He grabbed one of the iron bars, testing its strength. It didn't budge.
"Except..." A grin spread across his face. "Except you guys pulled me in on a B-class warrant. Petty theft. Minor assault. Nothing that would flag a fruit user."
He wrapped his fingers around the lock that held the cell door shut. Heavy iron. Old but well-maintained.
"Which means nobody bothered to do anything except throw me in a cage and pat themselves on the back for a job well done."
The guard's eyes flickered. Just for a moment. Just long enough to betray the first crack in that stone facade.
"Idiots," Elijah said cheerfully. "I love the Marines. I really do. You make my life so much easier."
His hand tightened on the lock.
And then it began.
From Duckworth's angle, it looked like nothing at first. Just a man holding a piece of metal, same as anyone else might. But then the shadows shifted. Then the air around Elijah's fingers seemed to ripple, like heat rising off summer pavement.
A faint shimmer traced its way from the lock into Elijah's palm.
The iron groaned.
Not the groan of metal bending under pressure. This was different. Wrong. The sound of something losing what made it itself. Like the very concept of strength was being pulled from the lock one molecule at a time.
Duckworth's eyes narrowed. Devil Fruit. Has to be. But what kind...?
The shimmer intensified. Elijah's veins stood out against his forearm, dark lines beneath sun-bronzed skin. His expression hadn't changed. Still that same lazy grin. Still that same casual posture. But there was sweat beading at his temple now. Whatever he was doing, it wasn't effortless.
"This is so much work," Elijah complained. "I hate work. Work is the worst. Why can't things just... fall apart on their own? Why do I always have to do everything myself?"
The lock shuddered.
Fine lines appeared across its surface. Hairline fractures spreading like cracks in ice under too much weight. The iron was turning grey. Dull. Lifeless.
Brittle, Duckworth realized. He's making it brittle.
The guard took a step forward. His hand moved toward his rifle. "Prisoner, step away from the—"
Too late.
Elijah tapped the lock with his knuckle.
Just a tap. Light. Almost gentle. The kind of touch you'd give a friend's shoulder to get their attention.
The lock surrendered. Fell apart in a shower of rust-colored dust and fragments that scattered across the floor like autumn leaves. The heavy mechanism that had held them caged dropped away with a pathetic little clink and rolled into the shadows.
For a long moment, nobody moved.
The guard stared at the remains of the lock. His rifle was halfway raised. His mouth was open, words dying somewhere between his brain and his lips.
Elijah dusted off his hands.
"See? That wasn't so hard. A little annoying and definitely more effort than I wanted to spend. But not hard."
He pushed the cell door open. The hinges squealed in protest, a high keening sound that would have been funny under different circumstances.
The guard's training finally kicked in. His rifle snapped up. His finger found the trigger. "Don't move! Stay right where you—"
A blur of motion from the corner of the cell.
Duckworth crossed the distance in less than a heartbeat. One second he was in the shadows. The next he was behind the guard, his arm wrapped around the man's throat in a chokehold that had dropped bigger men in seconds.
The rifle clattered to the floor.
The guard struggled. Thrashed. His boots scraped against the wood as he fought for leverage. But Duckworth's grip was iron, and his technique was flawless. Within moments, the Marine's movements slowed. His eyes rolled back. His body went limp.
Duckworth lowered him gently to the ground. Professional courtesy. The man was just doing his job.
"Not bad," Elijah said, watching with raised eyebrows. "You're definitely living up to your name, Quickdraw."
"You talk too much." Duckworth straightened, rolling his shoulders. "That fruit of yours. Never seen anything like it."
"The Suu Suu no Mi. Siphon-Siphon Fruit. Lets me drain stuff through touch." Elijah shrugged like he was describing a particularly uninteresting hobby. "Energy. Force. The structural integrity of cheap Marine hardware. Real useful when people underestimate you."
"Which happens a lot, I reckon."
"All the time. It's my second favorite thing about being me."
Duckworth knelt beside the unconscious guard, checking his pulse. Still strong. He'd wake up with a headache and a hell of a story to tell. "What's your first favorite?"
"The hair." Elijah ran a hand through his dreadlocks. "Obviously."
A snort escaped Duckworth before he could stop it. Almost a laugh. Almost.
Elijah's grin widened. He liked this one. The bounty hunter had layers. Most people were books with big letters and simple words, easy to read, easier to manipulate. But Duckworth was different. There was depth there. Complexity. The kind of man who would make an excellent ally.
Or an excellent enemy.
Time would tell which one he'd become.
"Alright, Quickdraw." Elijah stepped over the guard's prone form, heading for the corridor beyond. "I got us out of the cage. First part's done. Easy. Now comes the hard part."
"Getting off the ship?"
"Before that."
Duckworth rose to his feet. "Weapons?"
"Before that too..."
"Then what?"
"My compass. They took it when they threw me in here. Some Ensign probably has it on his desk right now, using it as a paperweight because he thinks it's broken."
His hands clenched at his sides.
"That compass is the most valuable thing in the world. More valuable than gold. More valuable than any Devil Fruit. It's the whole reason I'm even on this ship."
Duckworth's eyes narrowed. "A compass."
"THE compass. The only one of its kind. It doesn't point north. It points toward whatever you want most." The steel in Elijah's gaze softened into something almost amused. "And you know what's funny? When I checked it before the Marines grabbed me, it was pointing here, to you."
"You're saying your magic compass led you to me." Duckworth's voice was flat. Skeptical. "On purpose."
"I'm saying the universe has a sense of humor. And right now, that humor involves the two of us working together to get off this floating prison before we end up in a real one."
"And if I say no?"
Elijah shrugged. "Then you stay here. Wait for the Marines to realize their guard is unconscious and their prisoners are loose. Get recaptured. Get shipped off to wherever they were taking you." He started walking down the corridor, not bothering to check if Duckworth was following. "Me? I'll find my compass, steal a lifeboat, and disappear. With or without you."
His footsteps echoed in the darkness.
"But I'd rather it be with."
Silence stretched between them.
Then, slowly, Duckworth smiled.
"Reckon I don't have much choice," he said, falling into step beside the pirate. "Seeing as you're the only one who knows where they keep confiscated goods."
"Third deck, officer's quarters, storage room behind the captain's cabin." Elijah didn't miss a beat. "I memorized the layout while they were dragging me down here. Photographic memory. Another one of my many talents."
"You've got a lot of those."
"I know. It's a curse, really. Being this amazing all the time."
They moved through the corridor together. Two predators released from their cage, hunting through the bowels of a ship that had no idea what was coming.
"One more thing," Duckworth said as they approached the ladder leading up.
Elijah paused. "Yeah?"
"My guns. They took my guns when they arrested me. Patience and Mercy. Twin revolvers. Custom made."
Understanding flickered across Elijah's features.
"Third deck. Officer's quarters. Storage room behind the captain's cabin." He repeated the location like it was obvious. "Your guns are probably right next to my compass. See? The universe wants us to work together."
"Or you planned this whole thing from the start."
"Quickdraw." Elijah placed a hand over his heart, the picture of wounded innocence. "Are you suggesting that I wanted to get captured by the Marines? That I intentionally got thrown into a cell with the most famous bounty hunter in the North Blue? That everything leading up to this moment has been one long manipulation designed to secure your cooperation?"
He grinned.
"Because that would be the kind of thing only a complete lunatic would attempt."
He grabbed the ladder and started climbing.
"I'm just lucky, that's all."