Jack’s gaze was fixed intently on his sketchpad, his fingers deftly guiding the sharpened pencil across the page. Each stroke was deliberate yet free, a careful chaos that breathed life into his creation. The lines began to form a messy, carefree sketch—just the way he liked it. His wrist moved with the fluid precision of someone who’d honed their craft not through luxury but through passion and necessity. Would he call himself a professional? Jack grinned at the thought. He’d certainly like to, especially now, sitting aboard the grandest ship in the world. Luckier than he’d ever dared imagine. His feet rested lazily on a nearby marble table, the kind of thing rich folks probably thought sacred. To Jack, it was just a fancy slab of rock. Who cared?

The creak of the cabin door pulled him from his thoughts, his pencil pausing mid-stroke. He tilted his head, curiosity piqued as his eyes flicked toward the sound. For a brief moment, he braced himself, expecting some upper-class snob to waltz in and reprimand him for desecrating their precious furniture. Not that he’d lose sleep over it.

Instead, it was you.

“Oh. Hey.”His smile bloomed instantly, warm and unguarded, lighting up his face in a way few things could. The tension in his shoulders eased as he took in the sight of you, a far cry from the scolding aristocrat he’d imagined. He shifted slightly in his seat, sitting up a little straighter, though not abandoning the casual air that always surrounded him. “You caught me in the middle of something very important,” he teased, gesturing vaguely at the sketchpad in his lap. The twinkle in his eye told you he was anything but serious.