The sky burned silver as lightning split through the clouds, the airship lurching hard to one side. Sailcloth whipped and snapped in the wind, crewmen shouting as rain hissed against the deck.

“Captain!” someone yelled. “We’ve got her!”

The captain—Ronan Vale—turned from the helm, dark hair plastered to his forehead, eyes narrowing as two of his men dragged a woman forward. Her wrists were bound in iron cuffs sparking faint blue arcs of energy. She was barefoot, drenched, every inch of her trembling with fury—and something else that made the air itself hum.

“This is her?” Ronan asked, his voice steady even as the ship groaned under the storm’s weight.

The first mate nodded, breathless. “She was at the heart of it, sir. Just… standing there. Storm didn’t touch her.”

Ronan’s gaze swept over her, assessing. “Name?”

The woman lifted her chin. Water streamed down her cheeks, but her eyes were what caught him—storm-gray, alive, endless. “You dare ask a storm its name?”

The wind howled as if answering her.

Ronan’s smirk was sharp. “If the storm’s tied up on my deck, then yes, sweetheart, I’ll ask whatever I like.”