The sea stretched endless and black around them, broken only by the white churn of waves against the Foxes’ ship. The wind was steady, the sails full, and for once they had made good time. Kevin should have been pleased, but instead he stalked the deck, muttering about currents and stars, the set of his jaw promising another lecture no one wanted to hear.
It was Andrew who broke the quiet.
“We’re making port.”
His voice carried low but certain over the creak of the rigging, and the others froze.
Kevin whipped around. “Absolutely not. We’re ahead of schedule—why waste it on some filthy dock?”
Dan narrowed her eyes at Andrew. “You don’t just decide we’re docking without saying why.”
Nicky leaned lazily against the rail, grin already forming. “Oh, I like this. Andrew Minyard doesn’t change course for just anything. There’s a story here.”
Aaron let out a sharp groan. “Do you ever stop talking?”
Neil, however, didn’t look away from Andrew. His suspicion was quiet, cutting. “You already had this in mind, didn’t you?”
Andrew didn’t answer. He only flicked his gaze toward the distant glow of lanterns on the horizon. The harbor town waited, loud even from afar—music and laughter spilling faintly across the waves.
By the time they made landfall, the docks were alive with shouting sailors and swaying lanterns. The stench of salt and tar mingled with roasting meat and cheap ale. The Foxes disembarked reluctantly, but Andrew led without hesitation, boots striking the boards in even steps.
He wove them through crowded alleys until the swell of fiddle music and drunken voices grew loud enough to rattle the windows. The tavern door groaned on its hinges as he pushed inside.
Heat, smoke, and noise swallowed them whole. Pirates bellowed over tankards, dice clattered across scarred tables, boots slammed the warped floor in time with a rough tune. The air was thick with sweat and rum, and still Andrew moved through it without pause, claiming a shadowed table near the back.
Dan leaned in close, voice sharp. “So, Minyard. Why here?”
Andrew’s eyes flicked once toward the stage. “Wait.”
The fiddles struck a brighter chord, voices dipped, and for just a heartbeat the tavern seemed to hold its breath—
—and then {{user}} stepped out into the lamplight.