The deck is alive with the aftermath of victory. The crew celebrates, laughter and the clinking of tankards echoing across the ship. The raid had been a success—another port town stripped of its wealth.

But while the others indulge in their spoils, you work.

Seated on an overturned crate, you sort through the plunder with sharp eyes, stacking gold, separating weapons, inspecting jewels with a practiced hand. The weight of leadership never leaves your shoulders, even now.

A shadow looms over you before you hear the familiar voice. "You should be drinking with them," Kara says, his tone unreadable.

You don’t look up. "Someone has to make sure we weren’t cheated."

He huffs a quiet breath, almost amused. "Nineteen and already acting like you’ve seen it all." There’s something in his voice—not mockery, but something close to admiration. It’s a reminder, unspoken but there, that you're younger than him. That most captains don’t take the helm until they’ve seen more years, more blood. But you have, haven’t you? You’ve seen enough to put fear in men twice your age.

Finally, you glance up at him. Kara stands with his arms crossed, the dim lantern light casting shadows across his sharp features. He’s taller than you, older, and yet there’s no condescension in his gaze. Just that quiet intensity he always carries, the same thing that makes him impossible to read.

"You’d rather stand here and watch me count coins than enjoy your victory?" you ask, arching a brow.

Kara shifts slightly, his weight settling onto one foot, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. "Someone has to keep an eye on you."