“You think so, huh?” His voice held amusement, though his expression stayed serious. He leaned against the rail beside me and watched the Gray Gull. “Are you . . .” A deep breath. “Are you okay? Your face after that girl—”

   “That girl is no one,” I snapped. “Or any of your business.”

   He straightened up. “Okay. I’ll leave you alone.”

   “No, wait.” I shook off my gloom, suddenly aware of the opportunity before me. “I’m being rude. I’m sorry. Don’t go.”

   He wavered, even shifting from foot to foot, and I thought I’d lost him. After a little more hesitancy, he settled against the rail but pointedly looked away from me. “No need to apologize. We all have our days.”

   My mind raced, and I tried to slow it down. I had him. At last. Now I needed to keep him. “Are you . . . are you excited to return to Adoria?”

   “I wouldn’t say ‘excited.’ But I’ve got work to do in Cape Triumph. And a couple of people I’d like to see.”

   As I started to reply, I had a weird sense of familiarity. Like I should know him. But it wasn’t possible. “You’re lucky. Going home to people who care about you.” Images of Lonzo and Tamsin flashed through my mind.

   “I’m not sure I think of Cape Triumph as home.”

   “I’ve always thought people are what make a place home.”

   “People complicate things. They can be dangerous if you get attached to them.”

   He still wouldn’t look at me, but I realized he’d dropped that overly proper air he usually projected. He was almost candid now, revealing a slight shift in the way he spoke. I always used my best Osfridian in public, but when I relaxed among friends, my natural accent slipped back in. I felt like that was happening to him now, but I just couldn’t figure out what I was hearing in his voice. It was maddening. As a student of linguistics, I needed to unravel it. And as Adelaide’s best friend, I needed to unravel him.

   “Thinking that way sounds like it’d be . . . lonely.”

   He only shrugged. I was in grasping distance of figuring out that cadence in his voice.

   “Is your voyage going well?”

   “Any voyage where you’re still afloat is going well.”

   Silence again. I had it. Almost. I’d heard enough colonial accents on board to recognize them now, even carefully hidden under the proper Osfridian pronunciation he managed so well. But something still felt off about his. “Mister Elliott . . . which part of Adoria were you born in?”

   His whole posture changed, growing stiff. Wary. “What makes you think I was born there at all?”

   “It’s in your voice, your accent. I mean, it’s hard to pick up—but it’s there. The way you stress your vowels, I think.”

   I finally received eye contact, and it was filled with suspicion. “And how in the world would you—” He stopped and averted his gaze once more. “I’ve traveled around. I’ve probably picked up some of the local sounds.”

   “Were you outside the central colonies? I haven’t heard many Adorians from the edges, but there must be regional differences.”

   “Are you a linguistics professor in your free time, Miss Viana?”

   “No, but I worked with one back in Osfrid.” I noted how he’d dodged my question. “I’ve been trying to get rid of my Sirminican accent.”

   “Why?”

   I thought he must be joking, but he seemed legitimately puzzled. “Most people think I’ll make a better match if my accent isn’t so noticeable.”

   His eyes traveled over my body, studying me from head to toe. “Unless you’re marrying a blind man, no husband’s going to care about your accent.”

   Heat flooded my face. I had no reason to feel offended, seeing as I’d sized him up in exactly the same manner that first day. “Well, I should hope he’d care about more than just my looks,” I shot back.

   “Did I say anything about your looks?” He was watching the waves again, but I could see a wry smile playing at his lips.

   “You didn’t have to.”

   “I meant no offense, which I think you know—because you seem like you’re pretty observant too.” Decorous Grant returned as he gave me a small bow and turned in the direction of the door that led below. “Thank you for your time, Miss Viana.”

   He walked away, and that was when I spotted something I’d never noticed before—probably because the wind was always blowing his hair around.

   A nick in his left ear.

   My jaw dropped. I’d seen that nick before, twice—in the laborer who’d been at Blue Spring. A coincidence, I started to tell myself. That was all it could be. The Flatlander had been older, scarred, and stooped. Not to mention prone to coughing. Grant, while a little untidy sometimes, was a striking man and not much older than me. He was educated. He talked easily to the middle- and upper-class passengers on board. The two men had nothing in common, except that ear.

   And their voices, I realized. The laborer had had a heavy Flatlander accent, similar to Ingrid’s, but there’d always been a slight twang in his that differed from hers. Something I couldn’t identify then, just as I couldn’t identify it in Grant’s voice now.

   How was this possible? How could one man pull off two completely different people? An accent change was the first way, I supposed. I could imitate any number of them—why not Grant? And how hard was it to fake a hunched back and coughing fits? I’d never been able to study his entire face back at Blue Spring. Mostly I’d just seen his eyes—dark, cynical eyes. Eyes that didn’t miss anything.

   I gripped the rail tightly. Okay. They could be the same person. But to what end? Why had he been at Blue Spring, and why was he on our ship now?