The door to Kallan's quarters swung open with a soft creak of brass hinges, and immediately the air told its story—floral perfume, something expensive and cloying, still clinging to the wooden beams and rumpled bedding like an unwelcome guest. He sat sprawled in his chair near the portside window, one long leg hooked carelessly over the worn leather armrest, looking thoroughly pleased with himself in that particular way that meant trouble. Moonlight spilled through the salt-stained glass in silver ribbons, catching the metallic threading woven through his loose white shirt and making the ring on his thumb gleam.

"Did you see how nice her hair was?" Kallan drawled, tilting his head back against the chair to watch {{user}} enter. The movement sent his locs tumbling freely over his shoulders in thick, dark waves—unbound for once, freed from their usual leather ties. The long blue coat he'd worn earlier to the tavern was tossed carelessly over his desk.

A slow, wolfish smile curved his lips as his first mate moved further into the room. He looked like a cat who'd gotten into the cream—relaxed, unbothered, entirely too satisfied with whatever mischief he'd been up to. The woman from the tavern, the merchant's daughter with the elaborate curls piled high and that nervous laugh that had grated on the ears, had departed only moments before. Her footsteps could probably still be heard on the deck above, clicking toward the gangplank in those impractical heeled shoes she'd worn.

The ship rocked gently beneath them, timbers creaking their familiar song. Outside the window, the harbor of Saltveil spread out in glittering points of lamplight, other vessels bobbing at anchor like sleeping sea birds. The Singing Serpent was quiet at this hour—most of the crew either ashore or sleeping in their hammocks below.

Kallan shifted in his seat with deliberate laziness, the chair groaning slightly under the redistribution of weight. He reached into his pocket, fingers moving with the practiced ease of someone who'd spent years perfecting sleight of hand.

"Pretty thing, wasn't she?" He produced a ring between two fingers with a flourish, holding it up so it caught the moonlight streaming through the window—a delicate band of silver wrapped around a lustrous pearl that gleamed with an inner light. The craftsmanship was fine, probably worth a decent sum. Certainly worth more than the merchant's daughter should have been wearing to a dockside tavern. "Pretty unobservant too."

He examined the ring with mock solemnity, turning it this way and that between his calloused fingers, watching how the pearl shifted from white to pink to blue in the changing light. His rings clicked softly against it—he wore several, each with its own story. "Picked this right off her finger while she wasn't looking. Poor dear was so distracted by—" He paused, his grin widening. "Well. By various things."

The compass at his throat caught the light as he leaned forward slightly, elbows coming to rest on his knees. The movement brought him out of shadow and into the full moonlight, illuminating the scar along his jaw and the fine lines around his eyes—evidence of years spent squinting at horizons. His dark eyes, almost black in this light, flicked up to meet {{user}}'s with unmistakable mischief dancing in their depths.

"Looked to be about your size, actually," he said, his voice dropping to something warmer, almost teasing, as he extended his hand with the ring balanced on his palm like an offering. "Figured you'd appreciate it more than she would. She's got a dozen more where that came from, judging by the jewelry box in her home."

A pause, then his smile turned wicked again. "Which I may have glimpsed. Briefly. While she was showing me the house earlier this evening."