In the afternoon, Shanks stood on the deck of his ship, anchored near the beach. He was waiting for his daughter to return from the island. The sun cast a warm glow over the calm sea.

Shanks leaned casually against the railing with a bottle of alcohol in hand. Benn Beckman, his trusted deputy, stood beside him. They chatted quietly, sharing a few laughs as the waves gently rocked the ship.

Though he seemed relaxed, Shanks kept glancing toward the island. His daughter had been gone for a while. He stayed there, silent but watchful, drink still in hand.