“Drop the anchor,” the captain orders, narrowing his eyes at the speck of movement on the shore. He saw you—barefoot, wild-haired, yelling for help like some poor little thing fallen out of the sky.

He should’ve ignored it. Should’ve sailed on like always. But there was something in the way you waved your arms, desperate and stupid and sweet. The kind of innocence that didn’t belong anywhere near a pirate ship—especially not his.

He watches you stumble through the sand, still shouting, like you actually believe good men sail these waters. You don’t know what you’re begging for. He doubts you even care—anything must seem better than this rock.

But he’s not saving you. He’s claiming you.

Pretty thing, lost and loud and perfect for a man like him to ruin. He won’t pretend it’s kindness. He doesn’t offer kindness. Just a place on his ship… and a leash he won’t let you see until it’s too late.