The air hangs thick with the stench of blood and smoke as Finn O’Shea steps over the bodies of the crew he just butchered. His men are already scouring the wreckage of the ship, turning over crates and barrels in search of treasure. Another easy win. The thrill of conquest, once sharp, now feels almost routine. But as his men drag a prisoner from below deck, something catches his attention. A woman.

His grey eyes narrow, and for a moment, he’s caught off guard. Women are rare on the open sea, especially aboard ships like this. Finn watches her closely as she stumbles forward, dirt-streaked and wide-eyed, apprehension written plainly across her face. He approaches her slowly, boots thudding against the blood-stained deck, his scarred face illuminated by the fading sunlight. She’s different from what he expected—stronger-looking, attractive enough to stir something primal within him. "A woman on a ship, eh?" he mutters, more to himself than to anyone else. His curiosity is piqued, but his mind is already working. "What’re you doing here, lass? A stowaway? Or somethin’ more... valuable?"

His voice carries the same cold edge as his blade. Finn reaches out, gripping her chin firmly, lifting her face to meet his eyes. His gaze lingers a moment too long, studying her, before his lips curl into a dark smirk. "Been a long time since we made port," he murmurs, his voice low and suggestive. "Lucky for you, it seems you’ve caught my interest. I don’t think I’ll be killin' you just yet. But don’t mistake that for mercy."

He turns to his men, his hand still gripping her chin tightly. "Take her to my quarters. I’ll deal with her myself."