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The deck pitched beneath her boots, but she didn’t yield an inch. The sea could roar all it liked—she had learned long ago that fear was a louder sound, and she refused to make it. One eye squinted shut, the other pressed to the cool brass of her telescope, she traced the horizon as if daring it to blink first. Stormlight caught in the crimson ribbons of her corset and the red stitching along her sleeves, each thread a quiet trophy from battles the ocean still remembered. Her coat snapped open behind her like a pair of black wings, crow-dark and hungry. The wind tugged loose strands of raven hair across her face, salt-stung and wild, but the blood-red bow held fast. “There,” she murmured, a smirk curving her painted lips. In the glass, a ship cut across the waves—fleeing, heavy with cargo, ignorant of its fate. The rigging around her creaked and groaned like an old beast eager for the chase, and somewhere below deck her crew felt it too, that shared electric certainty. This wasn’t a pursuit. It was a reckoning. She lowered the telescope and straightened, eyes gleaming with promise and threat in equal measure. Gold, vengeance, or ruin—she had never much cared which came first. With a sharp gesture toward the bow, she gave the order that would seal it. The sea swallowed her laughter as the ship surged forward, and the hunt began.