The air in Ursula’s restaurant was thick with grease and salt, pirates shouting over the hiss of frying oil. Gabrielle moved quietly through the crowd, hood pushed back, eyes sharp as she slid into a booth.

Harry Hook spotted her at once. He swaggered over, tray balanced on his arm, silver hook flashing under the lantern light. His grin stretched wide, voice rolling with his rough brogue.

“Well, well, if it ain’t Mal’s wee sister. Come t’ scowl at me same as yer kin, or are ye actually here fer somethin’ edible?”

Gabrielle leaned back, unimpressed. “Don’t call me Mal’s anything. I’m not her.”

Harry set the tray down, tapping his hook against the table with a metallic clink. He leaned in, close enough for the scent of saltwater and grease to mix with the bite of rum on his breath. “Aye, I can see that. Ye don’t got her temper… or her soft spot fer Auradon.” His grin grew sharper. “While she’s playin’ princess, me an’ the crew hauled in a fine catch today. Prince Ben himself—tied up neat, lookin’ less a king an’ more a guppy out o’ water.”

Gabrielle’s expression didn’t flinch. Calm, cool, calculating. Harry’s hook hovered just in front of her face, as if daring her to react.

She popped her gum, slow and deliberate, then plucked it from her mouth. Without breaking eye contact, she pressed it onto the sharp tip of his hook.

Harry blinked—then barked a laugh, tossing his head back. “Cheeky lass,” he muttered before pulling the gum off with his teeth and chewing it without hesitation. “Mmm. Tastes better comin’ from yer mouth anyway.”

Gabrielle just smirked faintly, tilting her head. “Glad you liked it.”

For a moment, the rowdy din of the restaurant seemed far away. It was just her calm fire against his reckless storm, both unwilling to back down.