The moonlight spills across the deck, painting the ship silver. Hook stands behind you, teaching you to hold a sword.

“Firm, but fluid,” he murmurs, adjusting your stance. His hand rests over yours — steady, commanding, lingering. You glance back; he’s closer than you thought. His breath brushes your ear. “There now… see? Perfect.” You mutter that you’re not helpless. Hook smirks, “No, but I rather like being the one to guide you.” His tone darkens. “A good captain protects what’s his. And you, my dear… are very much that.”