Wendy walked outside with a confidence in her step that surprised even herself, passed by the numerous sea of faces that belonged to his crew–all shared expressions that conveyed wonder and confusion as she walked amongst them–just as equally unresponsive and shifting to vague concern, but her thoughts remained solely on the one who had hired her.

She moved with haste, her hope that Peter would remember her had dissipated like the fading sun of Neverland, which now set broodingly but weakly before her in the unnatural darkness that tinted the world in its new, sinister hue.

With her hands in her pockets–very useful things–she ventured across the deck and looked around for Killian.

Wendy didn't get very far before absently stopping in her tracks. She looked up into the darkening sky and thought of Peter–the boy who used to bring endless Spring and Summer to the island–and so Wendy listened, trying to hear the familiar crow she had once heard in her youth. The strange, eerie laugh of the boy she had once referred to as a hero whose careless demeanor could be heard even the farthest of distances. An innocent sound that brought a sense of normality to the land of unending childhood.

No cry emitted by a bird or a beast dared mimic the fearless call which all children longed to hear–as it went unheard by all who took care to listen. At this somewhat reluctant, and yet admitted defeat, she turned her focused gaze to the clouds, hoping to see a familiar small figure, no larger than a grain of sand, dart above the large canopy of treetops. Her hopeful expression waned, and her eyes dimmed as she waited in vain for any sign of her old friend.

"It took me a while to get used to the view, too." Killian's shadow loomed just behind her before he came to stand at her side, one hand in his pocket and the other dangling beside him. "I don't think I'm used to it quiet yet. It's a strange thing seeing the same sight for centuries and then it suddenly changes."

His observation would have rang true, had he actually been looking at Neverland's dull outline in the distance; peered out and in the way the sun glared weakly below the horizon, extended their shadows across the desk and threatened them with the only light that would reach them now. He looked at her instead.

And he wasn't the only one. The rest of the crew gawked with curious wonder, several standing with their mouths slightly agape, their menial tasks forgotten even with the expectation that they would be risking meeting their captain's fury just to stare a moment longer. Only one seemed resistant to her charms, one boy no more than eighteen lounged with his shoulders planted against the siding, his knees drawn up to his chest and a hardened expression as he sharpened a knife.

Only when Killian turned his head did they finally avert their eyes, a low series of whistles rumbling amongst the crowd.

His hand took the hilt of his sword, however he did not turn it on his crew or threaten them for even entertaining her in such a way, rather kept it in its scabbard, extending it out to Wendy. "Are you ready for our sparring match, then?"

There was no warning before she had extended a hand and he'd placed his own sword there. "If we are going to be searching for Pan, I should be more comfortable if you know how to defend yourself." The brief moment shared between them had dissipated in an instant, now seamlessly slipping back into his captain demeanor to put a few steps between them, whipping around with a bounce in his step.

"And I'm right to assume that you've never been in a duel before. Your feet move very much like the steps to a dance," He motioned to the tip of his sword. "And the pointy end goes through whoever you're trying to stab." He grinned. "Don't be afraid to, you know," He threw a hand out. "Really get into it."

"What if I accidentally hurt you?" She blurted and immediately scolded herself. In front of her stood one of the most dangerous men she'd ever known and she was worried about hurting him, heedless of the fact that he had plenty more experience and would or could likely incapacitate her within the first few seconds.

Peter had shown her a few tricks, ironically to defend herself against pirates like him.

She pulled the sword from its scabbard and eyed the dull gleam of its blade, suddenly unsure. Peter would never attack her… would he? Somehow, with Neverland being so different from how she remembered it, she suddenly wasn't so sure. With a soft scowl, she experimentally swung the blade through the air and locked eyes with Killian.

But Wendy, as incapable of warming up to the possibility of inflicting any physical harm upon someone as she was, especially him, hesitated. Suddenly embarrassed by her reckless affection for him, she tightened her grip on the hilt. She wanted to learn how to properly defend herself, but she hesitated on this newfound territory. Still, the adrenaline that came with the mere feeling of holding a sword excited her, the crackling energy singing inside her body, coiling tightly around her scattered nerves.

Her hands itched with ruination, the urge to follow his order and attack him.

Or at least try.

Instead, she stood still.

"Don't look so unsure now, Love." Killian prompted and once again waved an inviting hand forward. It was gentleman-like to offer a woman the first move in a duel–even during a practice spar, and yet the amount of time that she was hesitating versus the amount of time that he stood there was growing substantially longer with neither making the first move and with nothing more to do than blankly stare.

He held up his hands in a temporary truce, leaning his weapon against the side of the boat before approaching her with careful, calculated steps–and she could only assume it was because she was brandishing his own weapon at him and was vastly inexperienced. The other reason being that he could never be in close proximity with her lest some strange foreboding anxiety take root.

He circled around until he was at her back, foot gently knocking against her ankles to spread them into the appropriate positions, one forward and one straight. Rough, calloused fingers brushed across her knuckles, a firm grip effectively squaring them for her, brushing her hair back to assist getting it out of her way.

"Stand like this," The next motions were taken with greater care, one hand effectively running the length of her forearm, his fingers brushing against the fabric of her shirt, lingering on her skin until it could wrap around the hand that gripped his sword, guiding her into the appropriate hand motion for a simple strike.

Wendy's breath caught in her throat. She didn't move; didn't dare. He was so impossibly close. Concentrating quickly proved to be a fruitless effort, the knot in her stomach strung taught and making her ache with unacknowledged feelings.

It was a teasing bastard of a scene; immersing and so full of secrets that had captured her interest and simultaneously refused to relinquish it. His breath caused her skin to sizzle with want so tangible, he could easily slice into it if he wanted to. There was a dizzying rush that came with his proximity, one that made her eyelids flutter.

"And just like this," He was leaning close enough that his breath gently caressed her ear, his abdomen nearly pushed into her spine, turning his head to the side to catch a glimpse of her side profile before they separated–an action that she hoped he regretted, but one that had to be done. "Alright," Killian breathed, retrieving his sword from the side of the ship and facing her again. "Just pretend that I am one of your London rapscallions so long as you don't poke my eye out."

Just pretend that I am one of your London rapscallions.

Following this sudden and new impulse, she swung at his sword, throwing the entirety of her fierce desire and frustrations into the attack, a preciseness that she wouldn't have thought herself capable of. The steel screeched against one another, the clanging ringing in her ears as she dared to go for another strike that he blocked quite easily.

With a heightened sense of awareness and a challenging glint in her eyes, she stared fixedly at him, her mind whirring. Practicing with him felt like putting her hand in a crocodile's mouth, but he actually gave her the chance to escape unscathed. She wanted to drop her sword and throw herself at him, force him to actually look her in the eye for longer than a few seconds and.. Talk to him.

Yes, that was it.

In fact, it spurred her on, and she moved her sword and repeated the same movement from before.

One hand had braced itself behind Killian's back and while he had no intentions of hurting her, not even if she stood on the opposing side, she felt oddly insulted that he seemed to be holding back. A shock vibrated up her arm when she threw her first attack, the ferocity behind it surprising even him. Killian had to take one practiced and clumsy step backward in order to avoid the second. "You must have ill memories of a previous lover with this sudden fire." He mused, the hint of a tease lacing his tone and unfolding seamlessly from his lips despite having to recompose himself.

The moment was treated as a kind of game, a gentle smirk following his acute observation, closing the space between them on the deck, kicking up dirt and dust with the abrupt movement. He brought his weapon upward, throwing it down in a flurry of cold steel. The meeting of their blades thrummed a shock up his forearm, rattling as he met her show of force.

Locking their blades in an X formation, he teased over the crossing of their swords. "You know, I often prefer to do much more enjoyable activities when I'm throwing a woman on her back. If you care to turn this into a friendly competition, I'll wager that I can give you something decent in return if you manage to win."

He met the intensity of her stare with relative ease, and all at once he threw their blades to the side so the points skid across the deck, the sharpness of his hipbone slamming into her abdomen, albeit not exerting as much force as she knew he could have. "But you're going to have to try much harder than that," he taunted, twirling his sword in an expert hand. It made an almost inaudible whoosh sound before coming to a full stop in his palm again. He grinned.

Wendy's movements stuttered when he spoke, teasing her in a way that only fueled her intense desperation. He wasn't being fair, not that she most certainly expected him to, but his words had caught her off guard, weakened her. Her breath caught in her throat.

Had he really just said that?

The rosy hue in her cheeks flushed. He was so very clever, that much undoubtedly true. She didn't quite trust him, but it pulled at her brow, sparkled in her eye, perched on her lips. She wanted him so badly it actually frustrated her.

She could never fully explain the origin of her attraction to him. Anyone who saw him had to admit that he was handsome at least, an unprecedented picture of confidence, inspiring desire in the way he stepped, spoke.

And yet it also went beyond that.

Wendy hardly realized that she had started carrying herself like a loaded gun as they sparred, her sword clattering to the floor when he threw a fraction of his weight against her side and she released it without thinking. She inched closer to him until their faces were mere inches apart, forcing him to look at her.

At home, she had considered that she had simply been forgotten among an endless stream of willing women, and suddenly that feeling was back, but this time it poured over into a jealous, horribly inappropriate protection. They had only ever exchanged the most innocent touches and while to her they had been laden with meaning, she couldn't help but shake the sudden unease that came with wondering whether he treated other women differently, let them get closer.

What if he thought she was still a prim girl? A funny, but fleeting distraction?

"You think I want something decent from you? My, you're bold." Her tone was absent of any irritation, only a weary sense of fact-and a little white lie-the tip of her nose brushed against his. Warmth swelled in her chest and the closeness was enough to momentarily obscure her senses.

His breath hitched when her hand found his chest, fingers inching agonizingly slowly down his abdominal area, further down and stopped just above his stomach and she felt his entire spine stiffen underneath her touch. She pushed him away without warning, picked up her sword and took a step back with a soft, faint smirk, that hot bloom of excitement still growing beneath her flushed skin as she raised her weapon once more.

A friendly competition indeed.

Killian would have been lying if he had blatantly said that her words hadn't stung-she could see it. Not out of any particular embarrassment or shame, rather a genuine and dumbfounded interest at her sudden change in attitude. "I imagined when I won your heart, it would be because you wanted me. Not because you desire me as a trophy." His free hand gently scratched against the base of his skull.

Wendy seemed to fixate on backing him into a metaphorical corner more often than not. She blinked, her jaw parting slightly, the clanking piercing through her distracted state.

He only urged her to mess back, tease him.

Was he only teasing her again? His implications shocked her while she attempted to suppress the feelings slowly bubbling to the surface. Where did it come from? This sudden talk? Was it rooted in sincerity? She tried to keep up with her meager attempt at parrying, suddenly unable to string up an answer.

Somehow, it also excited a part of her.

She had been so convinced, so sure that he was playing a game. Of course he had feelings, desires, he cared about things, more than he wanted to admit. But he'd always kept a safe distance, refused to meet her gaze head on for longer than necessary.

Suddenly it didn't matter who won-had it ever-and her fierceness was replaced by a need to understand. No, she did not desire him as a trophy, but she did want to take his face into her hands, let her forehead rest against his and soak what was inside. His cutting words were like fine arrows piercing her through her very vulnerable heart. She wanted to be there for him, hear his twisted thoughts, but he never went all the way.

Tease, retreat, repeat.

A game.

"I have no intentions of being toyed with." The words left her mouth before she could stop herself, but if her mouth did not, her eyes spoke volumes, revealed earnestness, yet were strangely perplexed at the turn their conversation had taken, its sudden sobriety. "If you want my heart, Captain, you could just go ahead and take it."

She blocked another swing, never averting her eyes.

When Killian actually managed to shake himself out of his daze, an incredulous scoff escaped him and played into a grin despite having to glance away. His thumb swiped across his nose. "I haven't any intentions of taking anything, because when I win your heart and I will, it will be of your own desire, not because I took it from you." Killian could have taken this thing-whatever it was that lingered between them and drew them in, conjuring a heady mixture of apprehension and excitement deep inside of them. Raw. Untouched. Unexplored. The manifestation of it laid bare and dangling above him like meat.

It wasn't difficult for Killian to find his cocky demeanor once again as he brushed off the initial shock. Once again, he held his sword out toward her but with a new crackling intensity. The force of his swing was heavy with an untouched strength and he moved as he always did: a forward advance, a parry, leaping back and stepping forward, a synchronized dance of two partners that knew the steps of the other quite well.

And it was not their first dance.

The captain of the Jolly Roger fell to the motions easily as though they were natural-as if he had been doing this dance his entire life. "I will be thinking of what I want as my reward for when I win, but I can humor you if you have something in mind."

His eyes flickered down to the bare inches that were put between them that he could close so easily. The affirmation felt right, a revelation she believed that he was confirming within himself and would somehow let him know that it was correct, even if once upon a time they had been on opposite sides.

Physical strength would only carry him so far. He at least had the reach and the grace, a straightened posture and years worth of experience.

Experience in a lot of things.

"I do have something in mind." She continued with a smile. "Many things. But I always figured that if you wanted to partake in them, you would have tried so long ago."

Things like kissing her. Like pulling her flush against him.

Looking at her without turning away after mere seconds.

She knew that perhaps he'd simply been a gentleman. There was evidence, such as their dance full of childhood innocence and secret passion. No pressure. Only the softest of touches and the brushing of hands, the gentleness one would expect a pirate like him to scoff at. Wasn't it all a display that proved their bond had meant something? It was a possibility, but she was too overcome with urgency and doubt to focus on it for too long.

"Suffice to say Love, I'm going to take my win now." He pushed back at her, threw their swords downward and then up until they were spiraling from their hands and clattering across the deck in a loud clanging of steel. She drew in a sharp breath. A hand wrapped around her wrist, pulling her forward until his fingers could snake over her palm, his actions suddenly unbridled and running rampant. The graze of their fingertips thrummed against her senses, suddenly hypersensitive and drowning out the low thudding of her own heart.

Their palms pressed together, his towering form over her, his stare sweeping so thoroughly. And he smiled, both corners of his mouth upturned into the most confident trace, dark pools showed the inner workings of his emotions, that want, that approximation of happiness that he seemed so desperate to shun away. The raw emotion that spilled between them, practically begging him to unleash it all.

In the open confines of the deck, he could have created space, distance. He remained close, searching her face, relishing in the heat that flowed to her just from their palms, the eyes looking at her now so much unlike the ones that should belong to a feared pirate captain. Something stirred, alive and hopeful, and had it been completely quiet, there would be an echo of his heartbeat around them, filling what remained of the empty space. More emotion in the beat of that second than had been witnessed from him before. An urgency, a desperation, a primal response to something neither realized they wanted until then.

His pulse echoed rapidly against her hand, the connection more tangible than ever, every atom quaking with recognition.

"I want my prize." He said, voice barely above a whisper, an atypical softness in his normally playful features.

Shivers ran down the length of her spine. It sounded like a threat, a promise, a vow. She looked at him, feeling the gentle assurance behind his words.

Their contest had reached its breaking point, trapping them both in a string of magnetism, growing stronger with each second they spent with such a slight distance between them.

Her stomach wound tighter and tighter with a desire that had become familiar with the last few hours

Prize.

Seconds gathered between them, the blush reaching across her nose. His eyes seared holes into her like a magnifying glass beneath a bitter sun-intense and wild and simmering to a slow blaze. She watched him intently with an equal expression, this attraction Wendy learned, turned her feverish, made her heart more sensitive.

"Then take it." She whispered, her voice fringed with a repressed desperation. Asking him. Daring him.

Take it. Take it. Take it.

In the back of her mind, she could see her younger self. How often she had thought of this, how the undercurrent of formality between them had always masked an intense longing. Wendy squeezed his hand, her fingers moving oh so eloquently over his own, up through the ridges of his knuckles until they intertwined. She imagined kissing him, imagining her hands on him, urgent with want. It'd been that way since that small spark on the ship that five long years ago.

Had she known that it would eventually erupt into a wildfire, she may have done something about it sooner.

Then again, back then they'd both been the same thing. Naive children.

Her gaze dropped to his lips, catching the soft frown creasing his forehead. He would never admit it, but she knew that he hadn't so much as the foggiest idea of what raged through the inside of her head. A part of him wanted to oddly enough, and that was enough to elicit a soft smirk from her, and dare to lean. To attempt to close that little bit of distance.

Just as her mind considered it, her head snapped up to greet a charcoal sky. Impetuous rumbling permeated the air, an onslaught of sudden rain brought with it. It declared to all of the raw power of Neverland, as if the world itself happened to be in the mood at the worst possible moment, giving them only a single fair warning of the wrath that it would surely unleash. Even the sea itself was drawn to the turmoil, waves striking relentlessly against the sides of the ship, the storm's fury only sated by the creaky rocking in its raging torrent.

She couldn't tear her eyes away. Her grip tightened as she stood there, transfixed. Sparks danced over their heads in the form of bright, jagged lines. The sudden outburst of all of its unnatural intensity was not anything that she hadn't seen before during her initial visit. It was as if it had a heartbeat of its own, as if it wanted to interrupt them merely for the sake of doing it.

Killian looked at her, her dare only increasing the temptation tenfold. Any potential action came out in the form of a breathless laugh from him instead. Around them, and without Killian's direction, the crew jumped into the action of rotating the sails and hoisting the anchor.

"I'll have to collect it later." He decided. "But you do owe me."

His hands steadied her back onto her feet once they separated, his hands snaking into his pockets to obscure how much they were twitching-nonetheless, she saw it. With a swift jerk of his head toward his cabin in a silent suggestion, she wrapped her arms around herself and wordlessly followed after.

"No doubt you're in need of rest or even a meal. One of the lads will bring it along shortly." Killian had to yell in order to be heard, the rain threatening to take them all down, drag them under with it-the crew knowing what to do without being told the only reason that they hadn't. While they walked along, brown locks plastered to his forehead, dripping against the shoulders of a well-tailored jacket that she'd only then just noticed. She could only imagine that she didn't look much better, but somehow he made it look so much more charming.

She kicked herself for thinking such.

The tension between them that had once a few moments ago been so sweet was lost with the brutal interruption. It'd irked her to some degree, but it was welcome lest either choose to play at their temptations.

Once inside, Killian shed his drenched coat and draped it over the back of a chair. He stretched, snatching a towel from one of the tables to run it over his skin, sleek and glistening, and his hair. The motion left it disheveled, wet strands sticking up every which way. Even running his fingers through did little to smooth it down.

She smiled.

"I suppose that you can take my bed for the night." He offered, extending the towel to her. "At least until I can set you up with your own private quarters. I'll take the sofa-I find it more comfortable most nights anyway." Once she retrieved the cloth to dry herself off, he laid their swords down. Then, he threw himself onto the bright red soda that sat directly adjacent to the piano.

He was tall enough to not fit on it completely–his legs elevated on its arm. His forearms tucked against his thinner frame, crossed over and his shoulders finished the motion of wiggling into a more comfortable position as if he'd practiced it hundreds of times. She wondered how many other people he'd had in his cabin that taking the couch was no difficult feat.

Pushing the thought away, she began running the towel through her drenched curls. "Thank you." She managed through another little wan smile and she watched him, looking just as disorderly, but aside from being the more charming of the two, he was also definitely more endearing than she could hope to be in the moment. A sudden flurry in her chest betrayed her indifferent facade, but she allowed it to slip into a calm thoughtfulness instead.

Outside, the rain tapped its intense rhythm against the oversized window to their right, It pulled her out of her momentary trance. The floorboards creaked, sails flapping and cracking, various rushed footsteps pounding across the deck on the other side of the door. A secretive dark swamped the room.

"You might find something to wear in the chest, but until the storm passes and we can dock on the island, we're left with the funnest bit." He said with an arch in his brows and a sigh. "Waiting."

Wendy didn't bother with a change of clothes, warm to her very core despite the damp that clung to her new wardrobe. Instead, she walked to where the piano sat beside the couch, settling down onto the bench and moving the blank parchment aside to lift up the cover. Long, elegant fingers moved over the keys, a gentle tune resonating in her ears that drowned out the harsh sounds of the storm.

A bright flash reflected in her eyes.

Out of the corner, she saw him looking. What little sunlight remained slowly faded, filtering for only a moment through the window to give his hair a slightly golden hue before they were drowned into the darkness of the cabin once again. Her first initial thought was to remark about his looks. A crazy thought, alarmingly hysterical and hitting her with the same show of force that urged her to not run when first given the chance. Regardless, she felt an undeniable sense of calm, the gentle pushing of piano keys and drifting notes lulling her into a relaxed state.

Killian melted into the couch cushions.

Her brow furrowed as she slid her fingers over in concentration. She felt like a being out of time. Whenever she smiled, whenever her eyes flicked over him and held steady, she forgot to think about life and instead learned to live it. Even Smee knew when not to interrupt, sliding a stray on the table by the door before he was gone again. Now, what remained was only the two of them, unspoken feelings, and a possibility. Even sitting in the dark without candlelight, the warmth and the light that he radiated touched her.

Wendy basked in it, let it reach her just enough.

A calm tune resonated in her ears, lulling and harmonious alongside her own rampantly running thoughts. It drowned out along with her other senses, one carefully placed note after the other that turned into a song that she scarcely recognized.

Then it was gone and her eyes were turning to where the cushion next to her shifted. Wendy didn't look at him right away, rather let the silence in the dark linger. His head had turned to the ceiling, tired, a soft exhale making his chest heave. The storm may have interrupted the moment, but it did not disturb the quiet solidarity that presided on the inside of their shared cabin. Her worries melted away in that instant, any notion to find Peter Pan lost if not to relish in the present, to absorb the moment just a little longer–as long as she could.

The remnants of a song played in the back of her head, a gentle series of notes in tune with the rumbling thunder in the distance, growing closer with each passing second. She stole one more glance sideways, cleared her throat with the silent assumption that she would be taking his bed for the night, and lifted herself up.

His presence left a burning sensation in her stomach, a painful fluttering that traveled the length of her chest and split across her heart even with the growing distance. She placed it behind their sudden proximity after so long, one that she wasn't used to. Not just with her, but an intimate closeness with anyone in general.

Killian was probably a different story entirely.

Words hadn't needed to be said. No conversation had to be made or any unspoken truths that would betray the moment. She didn't ask him any particular reasoning behind his actions, and he never outright stated why he had let her stay in such the confines of his quarters in the first place despite being so adamant about the rest of his crew obeying his personal boundaries.

But the ship had cast itself out, the island a blurry shape in the distance obscured by dark clouds and torrential rain. A heavy feeling settled over the island, almost angered and spiteful in its assault, and yet not a single creature stirred. Nothing ran for cover or made for high ground. The island remained silent and still, the trees blowing hard with the wind but otherwise not making a sound. It was quiet, eerily so, but held some unspoken mystery behind it begging to be solved.

At some point after settling underneath satin sheets, she had finally allowed the rocking ship and the ghosts of piano notes to lull her to sleep. Only after looking at Killian again.

His eyes fluttered, and she saw him slowly sink into the realm of dreams.

Its lurching had stirred him only occasionally, a slight stretch tugging at his limbs every so often as he squeezed into the small space of the couch. A sort of content presided upon his sleeping face; his hands tucked into his lap until the rest of his body had followed suit. Not a single complaint had been voiced, nor any remark about discomfort. The captain of the Jolly Roger had been content, laying on the couch in mutual silence and occupying the same space of Wendy across the room.

When she awoke–the lurching of the ship stirring her from sleep, Killian still slept. Her hair was splayed across her face, her lips drawn in a pout and her cheeks red, thin veins beneath her eyelids giving her pale skin a bluish tint. Her eyelashes fluttered as she awoke, her mind and body no doubt grateful for the much needed break.

It was the best sleep that she'd had in years.

She'd barely had a moment to grasp her bearings before a rumble of thunder tore her attention to the window, a blinding flash casting long shadows across the wall. It was still dark despite the early hours of the morning, and yet the sun still shied away, refusing to reveal itself and ward the storm away, bringing nothing other than a chilling darkness to Neverland.

Gripping the edge of the bed for stability, the ship maneuvering unsteadily across the rocky waves, it yanked away any drowsiness that she'd had, attention turned toward the rapidly passing scenery. A shudder had her standing–stumbling-throwing her legs sideways until her feet touched the ground.

She made her way toward the main deck.

It wasn't long since sunrise, but the air still chilled from the night. The rest of the crew still had yet to stir, sleeping soundly in their bunks after having spent the majority of their night keeping the ship afloat. The storm had eased somewhat–enough that it did not need micro-managed, but also enough that it left the deck disorderly.

Wendy stumbled with another harsh jerk, hand bracing against the ledge. A harsh creaking sound emanated from the floorboards below, a quiet splitting that threatened to tear the ship apart. They would need to dock soon, seek out repairs, and get more supplies. Unfortunately, the island seemed difficult to get to unless someone wanted to brave the ocean on a small dinghy or swim.

The universe granted her the possibility, the secret wish, that she could finally get to the island and figure out what had taken all of the life with it. One insistent, harsh tug left her stumbling out onto the edge of the deck, gripping the railing. Ever insistent, it beckoned to her, the churning, swirling water below holding her hostage in a vice grip that she couldn't shake from.

A cry for help drowned underneath the rumbling of thunder-the center of her chest colliding harshly with the siding, reaching a hand out and nearly sacrificing herself to it. She barely had any time to draw in a shocked breath when a large wave knocked against the ship and sent her tumbling over the railing. Her body cut through the ocean with a splash, being pushed further and further away from the Jolly Roger with every foot gained and every stroke she tried to take against the current. Her head went under, and her vision was lost to darkness.