Y/n's eyes snap open.

The dream dissolves like smoke—something about cold water, about darkness pressing close. The details scatter before they can be caught, leaving only the phantom sensation of being pulled downward. Of fingers brushing against theirs.

The cabin is dark. Familiar. Safe.

And yet.

Across the room, near the door, a silhouette stands perfectly still. A man. Tall. Shoulders just visible against the dim light bleeding through the porthole. Face obscured. But not his eyes.

For one crystalline second, those eyes meet Y/n's. Watching. Waiting. Knowing.

Y/n blinks.

Nothing.

The space by the door is empty. No shape. No shadow. Just the polished metal of the cabin wall and a coat hung neatly on its hook.

A soft breath stirs from the bunk beside them. Law lies on his back, one arm draped loosely across his chest, the other extended toward where Y/n's warmth used to be. His face is slack with sleep. The sharp lines of his jaw softened. Completely unaware.