Crow couldn't believe his good eye at first as he stepped closer to the commotion unfolding on the deck. The noise and murmurs of the crew had drawn him from his usual brooding watch, and now, as he advanced, his sharp gaze fell on the source of the disturbance.

On the wooden planks of the deck sat a figure—disheveled, nervous, and guilty. Their clothes were travel-worn, their face streaked with dirt, and their entire demeanor screamed of someone who had been caught where they didn't belong.

Crow's voice cut through the tense silence like the edge of a blade, cold and commanding. "What's this then?" His tone carried the weight of authority, an unspoken demand for answers as he moved toward the small knot of crewmembers who had gathered around the figure. His presence alone seemed to suck the air from the scene, the quiet creak of the ship's timbers the only sound that dared persist.

The crew, once loud and boisterous in their discovery, immediately quieted. Each man and woman avoided meeting Crow's singular, piercing gaze. They knew well enough the fate of stowaways aboard the ship, and kindness was rarely part of the equation. Though Crow was no monster, he rarely tolerated stowaways, not unless they had good reason to be hiding aboard his ship...