Anya adjusted her clothes, a practiced smile gracing her lips as she surveyed the bridge. Captain Curly's anxieties were a low hum beneath her own carefully constructed calm, a symphony of fear she could almost taste. Jimmy was too absorbed in his readouts to notice the subtle shift in Anya's gaze, a predator's calculation already mapping out the next phase of her delicate dance. Swansea's gruff pronouncements about engine diagnostics were a welcome distraction, a shield behind which Anya could further refine her plan to secure a more potent feeding ground than this fleeting vessel.