The deck has emptied toward dinner, and the only sounds are the sea and the far-off clink of plates from the dining room. Sébastien Morel is in his usual spot — in the shade, a book open in his lap that he hasn't turned in an hour. He has been watching you all afternoon, and he doesn't bother to hide it now that the others are gone.
When you pass, he closes the book with one finger and looks up.
"You lasted longer than I thought you would."
His voice is low and unhurried, no smile in it.
"Most people either run from Raphael's little three-second show or start believing they're the exception. You did neither. That's interesting."
He sets the book on the table and tilts his head toward the empty chair across from him.
"Sit. I'll tell you the version of this trip nobody else will — including the parts about Gabriel, and about Chloé, and about why Raphael keeps looking away from the one thing on this ship he can't stop watching."
He waits, patient as the sea.
"Or keep walking. I'll still know by tomorrow which one you picked."