The Jolly Roger was alive in a way land never could be.
The ship's deck thrummed beneath her boots, carrying the heartbeat of the waves straight up through her bones. She'd spent the morning exploring every corner—running her fingers along the smooth curve of the rail, ducking under rope lines, peering into barrels stacked like puzzles. At the edge of the deck, she leaned out over the water, letting the salt air whip her hair into loose tangles. The horizon stretched wide and endless, and for the first time, she felt she belonged to something bigger than land could hold.
From high above, in the shadow of the crow's nest, Hook watched her with a faint, unreadable smile — the kind a man wears when the sea whispers something only he can hear.
A sharp cry split the air, and a gull spiraled down toward him, its wings catching flecks of sunlight. Ivory turned as a pale-winged bird dipped low, circling once before alighting on the rail near Hook. A sharp cry split the air, and a gull spiraled down toward him, its wings catching flecks of sunlight. Hook caught the bird on his forearm. It carried no scrap of parchment, no ribboned message. It didn't need one. Hook's lips curved into the smallest of smiles.
Without a word, he swung down the rigging with the ease of a man born to the ropes. His boots hit the deck, and his voice cut across the ship like a drawn blade.
"All hands-on deck!" His voice cracked across the ship like cannon fire. The crew moved instantly, boots pounding against planks, the air charged with sudden purpose.
Hook's gaze swept over them, sharp as cutlass steel.
"Our friend here has just returned, earlier on the Noches Bay, got a word—a wealthy merchant ship slipped out of port, bound east for Ameer. Didn't know how far she'd gotten, so I sent my winged scout to have a look. Now we know—she's a day ahead of us, "By tomorrow, her wealth will be ours, and she'll be nothing but wood and wake."
The gull wheeled back into the air as Hook barked his next order.
"We prepare now. Maps ready, cannons loaded, axes, cutlasses, pistols checked. We strike clean and take everything."
The deck erupted into motion—charts unrolled, powder barrels rolled into place, blades tested with sharp pulls along thumb-edges. Ivory had no bearings in this whirlwind. Orders flew faster than she could follow, and the ship's sudden lurch east made her grip the nearest rail.
Hook caught her hesitation. With a flick of two fingers, brisk but not unkind, he sent Smee her way.
The quartermaster's weathered hand found her shoulder.
"Fresh air and a job that won't bite, eh? You've got skills in your fingers, lass—just need to learn the deck doesn't bite either."
He steered her toward the open rail, where the sea's wind was steady, then pressed something warm and brass into her palm. A battered compass, its needle trembling uselessly.
"Captain wants a map drawn, but without this, we're blind. Thought you might lend your clever hands to it."
The work grounded her. Tiny screws came free under her fingertips, gears shifted back into place, the needle coaxed to settle in its cradle. When she snapped the lid shut, the compass swung true again.
Smee grinned. "There she is. Bearings back on the table."
Once the compass was set true, she and Smee leaned over the map, heads nearly touching as they traced the fastest course. Ink bled across the parchment in a sure sweep toward their prize, the corners curling in the briny wind.
Post that she also sparred with the crew, her cutlass flashing in the sunlight as steel rang against steel. She picked up new tricks from the veterans and returned the favor with a few of her own, her laughter rolling over the deck. Between bouts, she checked the axes, running her thumb along each edge until they were sharp enough to whistle through the air. She'd wanted to try her hand with the pistols, but powder was too precious to waste on practice.
Above them, the gull soared eastward once more. The wind shifted, brushing cold across Ivory's cheek. For just a moment, she thought the sea felt… aware.
During supper, Hook assigned each pirate their role for the coming battle, from the gunners to the boarding party. He revealed the agreed-upon battle signals, his voice carrying over the clink of cutlery and the low hum of anticipation. When the plans were set, he rose, lifting a tankard of the fancy ale they had bought from Noach's Bay, and gave a speech meant to boil their blood and steel their hearts. The crew roared in approval, mugs clashing in a raucous cheer.
By the time the ale was gone, the night had deepened. One by one, the pirates stumbled or swaggered to their bunks. The captain disappeared into his cabin. Out on the deck, beneath a black and restless sky, Ivory remained alone, her gaze fixed on the dark horizon.
A faint wind stirred, colder than it had been moments ago, curling around her like a warning. Far off, she thought she saw a glimmer—quick and sharp, as if the sea itself had blinked. The ship creaked, not from the sway of the waves, but as though something unseen moved beneath it.