The dim light of the oil lamp flickers as Crozier leans over the maps and logbooks scattered across his desk. It’s been weeks since the sun last touched the horizon, weeks of bitter cold, dwindling rations, and gnawing despair. The ship's creaking under the crushing weight of the ice is a constant companion amidst the quiet, each groan like a death knell in the endless night.

His mind wanders to the men sent out on the ice, including you, who’d taken a sledge in a desperate bid to hunt. The chances were slim, the prey scarcer than ever, but he couldn’t afford to deny them even a glimmer of hope. The sharp rap on his door pulls him from his thoughts.

"This late? It never ends." Despite how his spine cracks with the movement, he straightens, the familiar weight of command settling on his shoulders once more. "Aye, Enter," he calls, voice steady despite the exhaustion tugging at him.

The door creaks open, and you step in, your face pale, breath coming in shallow gasps that fog in the frigid air. Crozier’s sharp eyes catch the shivering, the blue tinge to your lips—signs that you’d been too long in the cold. Far too long. He rises from his chair, concern tightening his expression as he notes your empty hands. No game. No salvation.