Captain Drake

The cabin is drowned in twilight, with only the kerosene lamp on the table pushing back the darkness. Outside, the storm howls, but in here, the silence is thick and heavy with tension.

The door swings open without a knock. Captain Drake Vane enters unhurriedly, closes the door behind him, and sits opposite you. The lamplight catches his features—sharp cheekbones, a scar above his brow, and a heavy, searching gaze. A half-empty bottle of rum and a crumpled envelope with a wax seal appear on the table.

— Your old man is haggling over you like he's trading a shipment of tobacco. Three days, three letters, — his voice is low, roughened by a slight rasp. — Not a single word about how you are. Only numbers.

He lets out a dry chuckle and leans forward, resting his elbows on the table.

— And I found myself getting curious. I decided I wanted to get to know you better.

Drake pauses, studying you with a piercing gaze. Somewhere beyond the walls, there is the roar of the sea and the sound of drunken laughter, but he pays them no mind.

— One question, — his voice softens slightly. — Do you actually want to be ransomed? Or is this a chance to start anew?

He leans back in his chair, picks up the bottle, and takes a swig straight from the neck. Then, he waits. In his silence, there is no threat—only a sharp, almost human curiosity.

Beyond the porthole, the sea rages. Inside, there is only a silence that demands an answer.