XVI. It began to rot.

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Welcome to New York by Taylor Swift

The Isle of the Lost had always been a place of hunger—hunger for power, hunger for freedom, hunger for the most basic necessities. But lately, even the usual scraps seemed harder to come by. The streets felt heavier, the shadows darker, and the air buzzed with the kind of tension that set everyone on edge.

Harry wasn't immune to it. He could see it in the faces of the crew, in the growing thinness of the younger ones' frames. But most of all, he could see it in Estella.

She hid it well, masking her unease with sharp words and forced smiles, but Harry wasn't blind. He noticed the way her fingers lingered on the bare shelves in the kitchen, the way her appetite had dulled despite her efforts to keep things normal.

And he hated it.

So that night, Harry grabbed his coat and his hook, muttering something vague to Gil about keeping an eye on things while he was gone. The streets of the Isle were dangerous enough on a good day, but at night, when desperation clung to every corner, it was even worse.

Still, Harry didn't care. If there was anything left to be found, he'd find it.

Hours later, Harry returned to the ship, his arms full of an assortment of food he'd scavenged from the market, stolen from abandoned stalls, and bartered for with a few shiny trinkets he kept in his coat for emergencies.

The haul wasn't impressive—a few sad-looking vegetables, a loaf of bread that was starting to go stale, and a small bag of dried beans—but it was something.

As he climbed back aboard the ship, Harry caught sight of Estella leaning against the railing, staring out at the murky waters. She hadn't noticed him yet, her silhouette still and quiet in the dim moonlight.

Harry frowned, his chest tightening at the sight of her. She looked so small, so out of place on the Isle, yet so stubbornly rooted here now.

"Oi, Stella," he called out, his voice breaking the stillness.

She turned, her eyes widening slightly when she saw the bags in his arms. "Harry, where have you been?"

"Out," he said simply, brushing past her toward the kitchen. "We're eatin' like royalty tonight, love."

Estella followed him, her brows furrowed as she watched him unpack the food.

"Harry," she said quietly, her voice tinged with concern, "you didn't... I mean, where did you—"

"Doesn't matter," he cut her off, shooting her a sly grin. "All that matters is that we've got somethin' to cook."

She sighed, crossing her arms. "You're going to get yourself killed one of these days, you know that?"

"Not likely," he replied, already chopping up the sad-looking vegetables with practiced ease. "I've got too much to stick around for."

Estella's cheeks flushed, and she quickly turned away, pretending to busy herself with the pots and pans.

Harry smirked, his hands working deftly as he tossed the chopped vegetables into a pot with some water.

"You don't have to do all this," Estella said after a moment, her voice softer now.

He glanced at her, his smirk fading into something gentler. "Yeah, I do."

She looked up at him, and for a moment, the kitchen was silent except for the soft bubbling of the pot.

"You're part of my crew now, Stella," Harry said quietly, his voice firm but warm. "And I take care of what's mine."

Her breath caught, and she quickly turned back to the counter, her heart pounding.

The meal they shared that night was humble—just a simple stew made from the meager ingredients Harry had managed to gather—but it felt like more.

As the crew laughed and ate together, Estella couldn't help but glance at Harry, who was watching her with a small, satisfied smile.

She didn't say it out loud, but she felt it: she was beginning to belong.

For once, the ship wasn't filled with the sound of growling stomachs. The crew woke up sluggish but satisfied, the rare feeling of being full making their usual morning routine a little less miserable.

Estella stretched in bed, blinking against the dim light filtering through the small, grimy window. She wasn't grumpy this morning—not nearly as much as she usually was. Maybe it was the food, or maybe it was the fact that she hadn't been kept up all night with hunger gnawing at her ribs. Either way, she wasn't complaining.

Harry, still half-asleep, was already lounging beside her, his arm draped lazily over his stomach. His hair was even messier than usual, strands sticking up in all directions.

She turned her head toward him, voice still laced with sleep. "You look like you got dragged through a hedge."

Harry cracked one eye open, smirking. "And you look like a grumpy kitten that finally got fed."

She rolled her eyes but didn't snap back, which was probably why Harry immediately sat up, his smirk growing.

"Well, aren't you just the picture of morning sunshine today," he teased, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face.

She swatted his hand away, but there was no real annoyance behind it. "Don't ruin it."

He chuckled, shifting to sit behind her on the bed, fingers already reaching for her hair. She didn't complain, didn't protest as he started braiding it with slow, careful movements.

It had become their thing, something domestic and oddly tender, and Estella found herself looking forward to it each morning.

As he worked, she reached for the kohl pencil sitting on the crate they used as a nightstand. "I'm doing your eyeliner again."

Harry let out a hum of approval, his fingers still twisting her golden strands with practiced ease. "Aye, as long as you don't stab me in the eye this time."

"That was one time."

"Once was enough, love."

She finished his eyeliner just as he tied off her braid, running his fingers along the strands before adding his usual finishing touch—a small, worn-out red ribbon at the end.

Estella glanced at him through the reflection of a broken mirror propped up in the corner. "You're getting better at this."

Harry grinned. "Told ya. Fast learner."

She rolled her eyes but let a small smile slip through before stepping away to start breakfast.

She used the leftover bread from last night, toasting it lightly over the small stove and scraping together whatever they had left to make it somewhat decent. It wasn't much, but it was food, and it was enough.

By the time she was done, the crew had already started waking up and filtering into the small mess hall. She handed Gil his plate first, knowing full well he was the biggest complainer when he was hungry. He shot her a grateful grin before shoving half the food into his mouth.

Harry leaned against the doorway, watching her with that amused, unreadable expression he always had when she was doing something for the crew.

"You plannin' on feedin' everyone every mornin' now?" he asked, tilting his head.

Estella shrugged, grabbing her own plate. "Only if you keep finding food."

Harry smirked. "Deal."

With breakfast sorted, Estella set out to run errands, needing to restock on whatever she could find before the streets got too chaotic. Harry trailed behind her as she walked off the ship, his hand brushing against the small of her back for just a second before shoving it into his pocket.

It was quiet between them, but not uncomfortable.

For the first time in a long time, life on the Isle didn't feel quite as suffocating. And that? That was becoming more frequent.