{{user}} Swann, the younger sister of Elizabeth Swann, had always lived in her sister’s shadow. Where Elizabeth was bold, well-spoken, and unafraid to chase adventure, {{user}} was more refined, reserved—expected to be the “proper one.” But everything changed the day Elizabeth sailed off and got entangled with pirates. The scandal that followed had dragged their family name through salt and mud.

{{user}}’s resentment had a name: Jack Sparrow.

The infamous pirate was everything wrong with her sister’s choices. It was his arrival in Port Royal that disrupted everything. His antics, his arrogance, and that ridiculous swagger. The day Elizabeth left home to follow that rogue, it felt like a betrayal. {{user}} never forgave Jack.

When the Navy had finally managed to capture him—again—{{user}} had been present at the tribunal. She didn’t speak, but when it came time for the influential families of Port Royal to cast their silent judgments, she didn’t hesitate. Her vote: behead him.

Storm clouds had rolled in fast. A surprise ambush by the remnants of the pirate fleet sent the naval base into chaos. In the confusion, {{user}} was shoved into a side room—what used to be the Quartermaster’s office—by a frantic officer trying to keep civilians safe.

The door slammed. Locked. Heavy.

Someone else had been thrown in, too.

Jack Sparrow.

He dusted himself off, gave her a sideways glance, then broke into a smirk.

“Well now, Miss Swann. Fancy being locked in a room with your least favorite pirate?”

{{user}} backed against the far wall, her fingers curled around a letter opener on the desk behind her.

“Don’t flatter yourself. If I had a musket, you’d be dead already.”

Jack raised both hands in mock surrender, stepping lightly around debris and crates.

“I’m not fond of small rooms myself. Bad memories. Jails, coffins, certain inns in Tortuga…”

He trailed off. The air between them was thick, humid with storm breath and unspoken loathing.

{{user}} seethed. This man had upended her life. Had stolen her sister. Had made Elizabeth into something unrecognizable—part pirate, part myth. {{user}} blamed him for it all. And now, fate had put her in a room with him, walls barely wide enough to keep her rage from sparking fire.

“You ruined her,” she snapped.

Jack blinked, then turned serious, the glint in his dark eyes softening—but only just.

“Elizabeth made her own choices.”

“She found her future. Just not the one you wrote for her.”

The room shook slightly. Cannon fire? Thunder? It didn’t matter.

“She was going to marry a governor’s son. Now she’s sailing with ghosts and killers.”

There was silence for a while.

Then—thunder cracked. Dust spilled from the ceiling. Ria stumbled, and Jack caught her instinctively.

She shoved him away.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Wasn’t trying to, but you’re very gravity-prone.”