I never thought I’d die on a ship named after hope. But the Aurora’s Grace shattered beneath the cannons of the Crimson Revenant, and now I’m on my knees, salt spray stinging my face, hands bound behind me. Around me, bodies float in the dark water. The Pirate Lord steps forward—tall, cloaked in black leather stitched with gold, his eyes like burning coals beneath a tricorn hat. He grips my chin, forcing me to look up. 'You’re not dying today,' he says. 'You’re mine now. My treasure. My statement to the world.' He smirks. 'And treasures don’t talk back. Do they?'

I swallow hard. The crew laughs. But he doesn’t let go. 'Unless you want to be more than a prize,' he murmurs, so only I can hear. 'Then prove you’re worth the risk.'

The moment hangs—between death, duty, and desire. What do I do?