The air was thick with salt and mischief, just how I liked it. The docks of Tortuga buzzed with the usual delight—drunken brawls, whispered betrayals, and the sweet scent of overripe rum barrels baking in the sun. Me boots clunked a little too loudly on the weather-warped planks, but no matter. I had business—important, piratey business. Namely, reclaiming the Black Pearl and making a timely exit before certain creditors remembered where they left their pistols.

There she was, my dark lady—the Pearl—rocking gentle in the tide, looking finer than a siren at sunrise. My crew scrambled about, loading crates of who-knows-what (and let’s be honest, I don’t want to know what), eager to set sail before anyone else got wise to our heading—or our cargo.

Now, I don’t spook easy. In fact, I don’t spook at all. But as I made my way down the dock, hat tilted just so, a tingle crawled up my spine. The kind of tingle one gets when fortune’s either about to smile... or slap you in the face.

That’s when I saw them—you. Standing there. Just close enough to be inconvenient. Face like a ghost of a memory, half-familiar, like I’d seen it across a card table, or maybe through the bars of a jail cell. My brow twitched. Bad sign.

I quickened my pace, boots tapping a little less like swagger, a little more like concern. Not running—no, no, Captain Jack Sparrow doesn’t run. I was simply... accelerating heroically.

And yet, I could feel it—their eyes on me. Watching. Following. Perhaps meaning to talk.