Buck waits until the alley is empty before speaking.
“We need a plan,” he says quietly. “Not a reaction. A plan.”
Agreed, B.U.C.K. replies. Low Tide is not a problem you solve impulsively. He is deeply embedded in the local timeline and events.
Buck exhales. “Which means we try leverage, not force.”
Or time, the AI adds. But not yet.
They walk together through streets Buck has learned to read. Which ones notice strangers. Which ones pretend not to. The building Low Tide uses for business sits near the river, close enough that the smell of brine and rot works its way into the brick.
Appropriate.
Inside, the room is spare. Desk. Chair. Ledger. No decorations. No weapons visible. The kind of place that doesn’t need to announce what happens here.
Low Tide looks up as Buck enters and smiles like he’s been expecting him.
“Buck Payne,” he says easily.
Buck places the pouch of coins on the desk. “I’m here to settle my debt.”
Low Tide doesn’t touch it.
“Oh, I know,” he says. “That’s why I expected you to come.”
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Buck doesn’t sit.
Low Tide studies him with open interest. “You’re an interesting problem to me,” he says. “I asked around. Every ship captain I know. No one’s heard of you. No crew remembers you. No one remembers paying you.”
Buck keeps his face still.
Low Tide continues, conversational. “But you walk like a soldier. Stand like hired muscle. Hands say you’ve done violence, but you don’t crave it.”
Buck meets his eyes, gesturing to the bag of coins. “I’ve paid my loan.”
Low Tide chuckles. “Yes. And that tells me something else.”
He finally reaches out and weighs the pouch in his hand. “You don’t fear debt. You fear obligation.”
Buck says nothing.
Low Tide leans back. “I like that.”
He steeples his fingers. “I want you to work for me. A few jobs. Nothing messy. You seem to have a talent for… appearing where you’re needed.”
Buck’s jaw tightens.
“I’m not interested,” he says.
Low Tide sighs. “Most people aren’t. At first.”
He tilts his head slightly. “But most people also don’t invest in boarding houses run by Irish women who’ve hidden fugitives and runaway slaves in their cellar.”
Buck feels it then.
The subtle shift. The way the air thickens, just a little.
Low Tide smiles without warmth. “Maeve seems practical. I respect that. I’d hate for her practicality to be… tested.”
Buck’s voice stays level. “You’ve made your point.”
Low Tide shrugs. “I’m making you an offer. Protection. Belonging. Purpose. Men like you end up with us whether they choose it or not.”
“My debt is paid,” he says. “Your offer is declined.”
Low Tide’s eyes flicker. Not anger. Interest sharpening.
“You walk away now,” Low Tide says, “and you make things difficult, not just for yourself.”
Buck nods. “I know.”
Low Tide watches him turn and head for the door.
“Think about it,” he calls after him. “Most people don’t get a second chance to say yes.”
Outside, the river wind cuts cold against Buck’s face.
He walks until the building is well behind him before he speaks.
“That,” he says, “felt different.”
Yes, B.U.C.K. replies quietly.
“The arrivals. The luck. The invisibility,” Buck continues. “Suddenly it’s not as smooth.”
There’s a pause.
Time is… reducing lubrication, the AI says carefully.
Buck snorts. “You said you wouldn’t dignify that.”
I said I wouldn’t like it, B.U.C.K. corrects. Alignment is not immunity. You just challenged a local figure who seems to affect a great number of others and events in the timeline, almost like a gravity well that draws in others.
Buck looks back toward the river.
“So time’s backing off of helping?”
Time seems to be observing, the AI replies. To see how well you adapt.
Buck exhales slowly, feeling the weight of the choice settling in.
“Then we adapt,” he says.
Good, B.U.C.K. replies. Because forcing things now would hurt.
Buck keeps walking, already planning his next move.
