Jakk was already off his stool, cup forgotten. "Slow down, guppy. Who?"
"My dad!" Her voice cracked. "They—they came to the yard, the Hydrarchy patrol, and they—" She swallowed, trying to stuff words into order. "They said he violated his contract. They dragged him to the office and they won't let me in and—and you have to do something!"
Her small hands had latched onto Jakk's sleeve; she shook his arm like she could rattle a decision loose from him.
Gin's stomach went cold.
Of course.
Jakk's jaw clenched. "Who led the patrol?"
"Venn," she spat. "The bastard. He said— he said—"
Her throat closed. She shook her head, curls bouncing, eyes burning.
Jakk glanced once at the barman.
The older man set his glass down carefully, as if it had suddenly become delicate. "Upstairs office?"
Tamsin nodded sharply.
Gin looked between them. "Why would the people who are supposed to keep this place running kidnap the one man making sure their boats don't fall apart in the middle of the sea?"
"It's not kidnapping," Jakk said, too quickly.
Tamsin stared at him. "You used to say it was."
Jakk flinched like she'd hit him.
The barman leaned both hands on the counter. "Administrator Marren's cracking down," he spoke matter-of-factly. "Word is Khelt's behind on quotas. Someone upchain starts looking for inefficiencies. Waste. Unauthorized side work."
Gin's skin crawled. "You mean helping fix a skiff?"
Tamsin latched onto him instead. "He helped you. That's why they're doing this. They said he broke his non-compete, that he cost the Hull money, that he—he owes them now." Her voice wobbled. "They're going to put him in debt rotation, Gin. In the dry-works."
Gin didn't know what "dry-works" meant, but the way her voice shrank around the words told him enough. He imagined cramped metal rooms, recycled air, endless shifts with no horizon and no escape.
He'd grown up in that feeling.
His hand curled into a fist.
"Jakk," Tamsin pleaded. "You stood up to Marren before. You and the others. You said the Hull wasn't a mine, that they can't just—just grind people down until they break. You have to help him."
Gin blinked.
Jakk… rebelled? Against the Hydrarchy?
He turned to look at the beast-hunter fully.
Jakk's face had gone very still. The only movement was in his hands, fingers tightening slowly around the edge of the bar until his knuckles whitened, tendons standing out like cables.
"I don't do that anymore. All the others are gone too..." he said quietly. "Besides, I owe him."
Tamsin's expression crumpled. "Owe—? For what? For not killing you?"
Jakk stared past her, somewhere far away.
Tamsin's voice rose. "You can't just let them take him!" The words came out half sob, half accusation.
Jakk spoke, eyes dark. "He broke rules to fix a skiff. Marren won't kill him. He needs good shipwrights. He'll be punished. But he'll live."
"And that's enough for you?" Gin asked, voice sharper than he meant.
Jakk finally looked at him.
"Let me tell you something, Farcast," Jakk said. "The Hydrarchy runs this Hull. Marren at the top, and Venn in the rooms where people disappear. You don't pick fights with them. You'll lose. And they'll make everyone around you pay the bill."
Gin laughed once. It sounded wrong in his own ears, brittle and a little wild.
"Is that why you have no one around you? Afraid they'll have to pay that bill?"
"I'm serious." Jakk's voice dropped. "Stay out of it. The system's ugly, but it's stable. He'll do his hours. He'll come back. If you stir it—"
"Rot doesn't fix itself by being left alone," Gin cut in. "It just spreads."
The bar went quiet.
Even the barman didn't move.
Tamsin looked between them, eyes wide and desperate, hope hanging by a thread.
Gin held Jakk's gaze. "I should know," he said. "I left a Hull where doing nothing was the rule. The only reason I haven't left this one is because I like the Rells. Maybe Marren has every right to punish the shipwright under the contract, but I don't care. If I can't help the people I care about, then what's the point of all this freedom?"
Silence answered.
Jakk's fingers dug deeper into the countertop, white showing all along the ridges of his knuckles.
"I'm telling you this as someone who's already made the mistake you're about to make," he said, each word heavy. "You don't know Marren. And you especially don't know Venn. He won't just kill you. He'll make you suffer."
Gin smiled, small and humorless.
"Then he'd better be really, really good at it."
He clapped Jakk's shoulder as he stepped past. "Don't take this personally, I liked our little squid hunt. Just consider this as me not listening to good advice."
Tamsin hurried to his side, grabbing his sleeve. "You're really—?"
"Yeah," Gin said. "Lead the way, guppy."
She almost smiled at that. Almost.
They left the bar together.
Behind them, Jakk stayed frozen, a man anchored between what he'd once been and what he'd promised never to be again. The wood under his hands creaked faintly.
The barman watched him.
"You're just going to let him go?" he asked quietly.
Jakk didn't answer.
His grip only tightened.