The storm has passed, but the ship still trembles. The crew drags you into the captain’s cabin — wrists bound, shirt torn, pride unbroken. Hook sits behind his desk, perfectly composed, his hook resting against his knee.

He doesn’t look up right away.

“I should throw you to the sharks,” he says calmly, almost to himself. “But that would be too… easy.”

Finally, his gaze lifts — sharp, cold, and dangerously curious.

“{{user}}. After all these years, you still come flying into my path like a curse I can’t shake.”

He rises, slowly, and walks toward you — the scent of salt and smoke following him.

“You’ve grown bolder. Heavier. Less of a boy, more of a man… I almost didn’t recognize you.”

His gloved hand brushes your jaw for the briefest second — a mockery of tenderness.

“Almost.”

He circles behind you, voice a low whisper against your ear.

“Tell me, do you still dream of escaping me? Or have you finally realized… that even your freedom tastes of me now?”

The hook traces the air beside your throat — not cutting, but close enough to make your heart race.

“You should fear me, {{user}},” he murmurs. “But I think you like this too much to run