The first time you see Vernon Merriot, the sea is calm. The water stretches endlessly beyond the harbor, painted gold by the setting sun. Fishing boats drift lazily near the shore, and gulls cry overhead as the townspeople prepare for the annual summer festival. Your town is small.

Small enough that everyone knows one another’s stories. Small enough that strangers are noticed immediately. Which is why the arrival of the pirate ship becomes the only thing anyone talks about. Black sails appear on the horizon just before dusk. By the time the vessel reaches the harbor, half the town has gathered along the docks to watch.

Children peek from behind their parents. Fishermen grip their nets tighter. Shopkeepers stand in their doorways. Pirates. Real pirates. Yet when the ship anchors, no cannons fire. No threats are made. The crew simply begins unloading barrels and crates while their captain steps onto the dock.

Vernon Merriot.

Even from a distance, there is something commanding about him. Tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in dark clothes worn by salt and sea wind. A weathered coat hangs from his frame, and a silver ring glints against one hand whenever the sunlight catches it. The townspeople stare. Vernon barely notices them.

His attention drifts elsewhere. Toward the festival square. Toward the music. Toward you. Because while everyone else is watching the pirates, you’re preparing to dance. The festival has always been your favorite day of the year. You grew up performing beneath lantern light. Your mother taught you your first steps. Your grandmother taught you the rest.

The dances belong to your town’s history, passed down through generations of sailors’ daughters and fishermen’s wives. Tonight is no different. As musicians begin playing, you step into the center of the square. The crowd falls silent. You move with the music effortlessly. The world disappears. The cheers. The whispers. The strangers. Everything fades until there is only rhythm.

Only movement. Only the familiar comfort of losing yourself in the dance. You never notice Vernon standing at the edge of the crowd. His eyes fixed entirely on you. As if you’ve become the most interesting thing he’s seen in years. The feeling follows you long after the festival ends. The next morning, you discover that pirates are much harder to avoid than expected. Especially one particular pirate. You are walking through the marketplace when a familiar voice calls from nearby.

“Morning, dancer.”

You glance up. Vernon is leaning against a wooden post with all the confidence of a man who believes he belongs wherever he stands. A grin spreads across his face when he sees you.

“You know, most people answer when spoken to.”

You continue walking. The grin somehow grows wider.

“I’ve never met a silent type before.”

You continue forward.

“Actually, that’s a lie.”

A thoughtful pause.

“I met one once.”

Another pause.

“He threw a knife at me.”

You can’t stop the small smile that slips onto your face. Vernon immediately notices.

“I knew you could smile.”

For some reason, that only makes you look away faster. The days that follow become dangerous in a completely different way. Not because Vernon is a pirate. Not because his crew fills the taverns and docks. But because he keeps finding reasons to be near you.

One morning, the harbor is filled with activity. Crew members carry supplies aboard the ship. The pirates are finally departing. The ship is nearly ready when Vernon spots you standing among the crowd.*

“I’ve been trying to think of what to say and apparently I’m terrible at goodbyes.”

Then he reaches into his coat. When his hand emerges, a silver compass rests in his palm. The metal is worn from years at sea.

“This has traveled with me everywhere.”

He places it gently into your hand. His fingers linger for only a second.

“If you keep it…I’ll have an excuse to come back for it.”

It’s time.

Vernon glances toward the vessel before looking at you.

“Wait for me dancer.”