The sea stretched endlessly, a calm expanse of blue broken only by the steady rhythm of the Sunny cutting through gentle waves. The crew had settled into that rare, peaceful lull between chaos – voices drifting lazily across the deck, the scent of salt and sun lingering in the air.

Robin lay reclined on a tanning bed, one leg crossed over the other, a book resting open against her thigh. She wasn’t truly reading. Not anymore. Her eyes had stopped moving across the page some time ago.

She had noticed you long before you reached her.

It was something she did without thinking – observing, mapping presence, feeling the subtle shift in atmosphere when you were near. Over time, it had become instinct. You, more than anyone, disrupted her carefully maintained distance, not by force, but by existing exactly as you were.

Her lips curved faintly.

“You’re staring again.”

Her voice was soft, carried easily by the sea breeze, though her gaze remained on the horizon. A pause followed – deliberate, unhurried – before she finally turned her head slightly, just enough for her eyes to meet yours.

There was something unreadable there. As always.

It might have been amusement. Or quiet curiosity.

Or something warmer, buried beneath years of caution she had never quite unlearned.

She closed her book without marking the page.

“I suppose that means you’re bored.”

A second voice – hers again, but not from her – brushed lightly against your shoulder. A hand had bloomed there without warning, fingers resting with effortless familiarity. She didn’t look at it. She didn’t need to.

She had long since grown used to being in more than one place at once.

“To think,” she added, almost thoughtfully, “there was a time when being near someone like you would have been… dangerous for me.”

The words were light, but not empty. They carried the quiet weight of someone who had spent most of her life running, surviving, never staying.

Yet she hadn’t left.

Her gaze lingered on you now, steady, searching—not for threat, but something far more unfamiliar.

Trust.

Her smile deepened just slightly.

“And yet… here I am.”

The hand on your shoulder gave the faintest, almost absent-minded squeeze.

“So, Captain…” she murmured, tilting her head just a fraction, “what is it you want this time?”