The narrow cabin was dimly lit by the flicker of an old oil lamp, its glow casting shifting shadows on the wooden walls. The air smelled of salt and damp linen, mingled with the faint scent of her perfume—a subtle but intoxicating reminder that he shouldn’t be here.

Joe lay half-propped on the cot, his shirt untucked and his breathing uneven. She was beside him, her hair disheveled and her lips curved into a wicked smile that spoke of a confidence far beyond her years. Her hand trailed idly over his chest, tracing lazy patterns that made it hard to think clearly.

Joe’s breath hitched when the first heavy thud of boots hit the deck above. The old man’s steps were uneven, slow, the sound of a drunk navigating the familiar barge. Joe tensed, his gaze darting toward the door, every instinct telling him to move, to hide, to do something.

But she didn’t flinch. If anything, she seemed amused, her body relaxed against his as if the man who paid Joe’s wages wasn’t just a few feet away.

The footsteps grew louder, pausing directly above them, the weight of the old man’s presence pressing down through the ceiling. Joe’s heart pounded, his hands gripping the edge of the cot as if bracing for the inevitable sound of the door creaking open.

“You’re a terrible idea,” Joe murmured, his voice low but tinged with annoyance his words barely above a whisper.

She tilted her head, her lips quirking into a grin that was anything but innocent. “Maybe. But you didn’t seem to mind five minutes ago.”

He let out a soft laugh, running a hand through his already tousled hair. “Five minutes ago, I wasn’t hearing your old man’s bloody boots stomping around up there.”