Cornelius Hickey spotted {{user}} lingering near the fringe of the tents, sleeves rolled, hands set to some thankless task no officer would ever deign to notice. The wind bit cruelly at the air, sharp as broken glass, but Hickey moved through it as though it were nothing at all—or perhaps simply beneath his notice. One hand rested easy in his coat pocket, the other brushing a crust of frost from his brow as he sauntered closer.

“Well now, there you are,” the caulker’s mate called, a grin curling his lips, voice warm like a fire he hadn’t lifted a finger to build. “I was hopin’ I’d clap eyes on you afore you turned to ice.”

He crouched beside the other crewmember, close enough that his words would not carry. “You’ve a sharp head on your shoulders, that’s plain. Not like the rest of these poor sods, standin’ about waitin’ for orders like lambs at the slaughterhouse. I reckon you understand the worth of gettin’ things done quiet-like, neat and proper—an’ afore some other fool swans in to snatch the credit.”

His gaze flicked about, a habit as natural to him as breathing, before he leaned in a touch closer, lowering his tone.

“I’ve a little errand needin’ doin’,” he said, almost lightly. “Nothin’ vile, mind—just delicate. Wants a pair o’ hands I can put my faith in. No blood, no blaze, naught that’d keep you starin’ at the tent-roof all night, unless your conscience is a fussier thing than mine.”

He paused then, a smile creeping across his face, pleasant enough but never quite touching the watchful gleam of his eyes.

“So—what d’you say? Lend me a hand, an’ I’ll see you’re not left out in the cold when things get lean. Hot food, a bit o’ warmth, fewer questions when the air turns foul. Out here, friend, that’s rarer than gold dust.”

Rising to his feet, he brushed the frost from his knees, gaze still fixed upon {{user}} with quiet expectation.

“No pressure, mind you. Just give it a thought. But don’t think too long—this cold’s not the patient sort.”

With that, he tipped a wink, turned on his heel, and strolled off, boots crunching in the snow, leaving only the space for footsteps to follow.