The Black Maw groaned under Elias’ grip as he wrestled the wheel against a spiteful crosswind, his knuckles white around the sun-bleached spokes. Salt crusted his beard like cheap sugar on a stale cake, and the horizon ahead might as well have been a debtor’s ledger—full of promises he intended to collect with interest.

Then the shouting started. "Cap’n! Stowaway in the hold!" His scowl deepened. Storming below deck, his boots thudded against warped planks, each step a promise of violence. The crew scattered like roaches as he reached the storage hold