Head leaned back and his eyes fixated on the ceiling of the cabin, Raphael could only think about his family and what they would do when he was gone. There were no more boys in his family, and his mother was too old to bear another son. It felt like a superficial thing to be concerned about, and now that he was facing death he realized it, but the years of being groomed into the role his father meant to him to play were not lost on him; he didn't want this to be his final disappointment. Death. Dying. In the middle of the ocean, in a cabin beneath deck because he couldn't use magic to escape. This was hopeless.

And then there was a knock. The voice was muffled, but with it came another, different sort of dread. He thought he recognized it. Of course, there was always a chance he was wrong—but why would his mind warp the voice to make it sound like hers? Nevertheless he scrambled to his feet, not about to pass up the opportunity to be rescued by anyone even if his pride was wounded in the process.

"Yes—I'm in here," he called back in a raised voice. "All the furniture's stuck against the door."

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