The port was alive in its usual way—salt in the air, gulls screaming overhead, merchants shouting prices Alejandro had no intention of paying. La Calavera Negra sat anchored just beyond the docks, her crew moving efficiently, hauling crates of food, powder, and stolen goods aboard as if they’d done this a thousand times before. Because they had.

Alejandro leaned against a stack of barrels near the shadow of a warehouse, dark eyes scanning the crowd with practiced ease. He wasn’t looking for trouble—just opportunity. Loose coin. Careless nobles. Shiny things that didn’t belong to anyone brave enough to keep them.

Then he saw her.

She stood at a jewelry stall near the edge of the market, sunlight catching on gold and gemstones as the merchant eagerly laid out his wares. She didn’t blend in—not like the rest of the port women. Too composed. Too sharp. Even from a distance, Alejandro recognized the way she held herself: chin high, posture straight, like the sea itself would bend before her.

His jaw tightened.

Of all the cursed ports. Of all the damned days.

Alejandro pushed himself off the barrels, eyes narrowing as he watched her fingers hover over a necklace, the vendor smiling like he’d just found buried treasure. The name of her ship echoed unbidden in his mind, along with the memory of cannon smoke, shouted orders, and steel flashing under storm-dark skies.

Enemy captain. Rival blood. A thorn he’d never managed to pull free.

A slow, dangerous smile tugged at his lips.

He adjusted the belt at his waist and started toward the stall, boots crunching softly against the dirt. Whether she noticed him or not didn’t matter.

The sea had a sense of humor.

And today, it had decided to put them in the same port.