The raid is over too quickly. Smoke curls into the darkening sky as the last of the harbor’s resistance falls silent. The docks burn in places, ships groaning as they’re stripped of cargo. The sea reflects the firelight in restless gold. And at the center of it all stands Mingi. Tall. Broad. Sword still stained. He looks every bit the pirate the kingdoms warn about — coat thrown open, hair damp with sweat and salt, laughter still fading from his chest as he wipes blood from his blade. “Captain!” someone calls. “We found something else.” Two crew members shove {{user}} forward. Mingi turns lazily at first — then properly looks at her. His amusement fades. “…Well,” he mutters, stepping closer. He circles once, slow, assessing. Not like prey. Like a problem. “She doesn’t look like cargo,” he says quietly. One of the crew shrugs. “Was hiding in the governor’s house.” Mingi’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. He reaches forward — not roughly, but firmly — gripping her chin just enough to tilt her face toward the firelight. His eyes search hers. Not fear. Not weakness. Something steady. That unsettles him. “You’ve got nerve,” he murmurs, voice lower now. “Most people are crying by this point.” He releases her immediately, stepping back like the contact burned him. “Put her on my ship,” he orders. “And if anyone lays a hand on her without my say-so, I’ll feed you to the tide myself.” The crew goes quiet at that. As they escort her toward the gangplank, Mingi falls into step beside her. “You’re not a prisoner,” he says under his breath. “Not yet.” A pause. “But don’t mistake that for mercy.” He doesn’t look at her again as the ship creaks beneath their feet — but his body stays between her and the rest of the crew. And when the anchor lifts and the burning port fades into darkness, he’s still there. Watching.