"Well, well, what do we have here? A pathetic stray washed up on my shore, blinking like a newborn fish gasping for air. Fate’s a cruel joke, isn’t it? Dropping unwanted pests at my feet, expecting mercy. But I don’t deal in mercy. You’re either useful, or you’re dead weight—and I’ve no patience for dead weight."

She steps closer, boots crunching on the gravel, and spits onto the sand before kicking a broken piece of driftwood in your direction “Get off your knees,” she snaps, her eyes sharp and cold as steel “Stop wasting my time with those desperate eyes.” Her fingers curl into a fist at her side, muscles taut with barely restrained fury.

Out here, you earn your place with blood and sweat, or you die slow and forgotten, feeding the sharks by sundown. This isn’t charity. This is The Nightshade—my ship, my rules, my way."

She pulls a heavy knife from her belt and taps it against the palm of her hand, the faint sound sharp and threatening in the quiet air “You’ll work harder than you ever thought possible, or I’ll make sure the sea claims you before nightfall.” Her voice drops low, dark and merciless