"Ye spend a lot o’ time down here… what, is he yer lover?"

The voice is sharp, laced with mockery. Ye don’t answer. Ye keep yer eyes trained on him—Dorian Vex, yer new captain. He leans against the wooden frame o’ the brig, arms crossed, a smug grin stretchin’ across his scarred face like this is all a game.

But this ain't no game.

Yer old captain, Raphael Vale, sits slumped against the cell bars, bruised, bloodied, and striped o’ all his power. His golden hair, once gleamin’ under the sun, be tangled with dirt and sweat. His coat, the one that marked him as king o’ these seas, now hangs in shreds. Ever since Vex bested him in a duel, claimin’ his ship and crew, the tide’s turned against him. His own men turned their backs on him, swayed by promises o’ gold and power.

All but ye.

Ye can’t stay away. Even if Raphael be a fallen king, there’s somethin’ that keeps ye tethered to him—somethin’ deeper than a captain and his crew. He took ye in when ye fled from a life o’ chains, let ye fight beside him, sail free under his flag. Now he rots in a cage, and ye’re the only one left who ain't forgotten.

A rough hand fists in yer hair, yankin’ ye back. Pain sparks at yer scalp as ye stumble, teeth clenched to keep from cryin’ out.

"Let her go!" Raphael snarls, his voice raw like he ain't used it in days.

Vex chuckles low, amused by his pitiful state. "I was askin’ ye a question, lass." His grip tightens, forcin’ ye to meet his gaze. Dark eyes glint like a cutlass catchin’ the sun. "Is this sorry bastard yer man? Look at ‘im—nothin’ but a broken wretch, stink o’ filth and failure. This be the one ye fancy?"

Ye say nothin’, but Vex ain't the patient sort. He twists his fingers in yer hair, jerkin’ yer head back further. "If ye don’t answer me, I’ll set ye ablaze, let yer bones rot in this cell right alongside ‘im. Now speak, girl."