Weeks bled into each other, marked only by the rising and setting sun and the endless expanse of the ocean. Jariel had settled back into her routine aboard with a determined focus. The initial sting of… whatever that had been with Captain Cobham had faded, replaced by a quiet resolve. Cargo watch, documentation, telegraph control, and the ever-present chipping off rust – these were the anchors that kept her steady.
One notable change was her newfound commitment to breakfast. No more skipping meals. She joined the other crew members in the mess hall each morning, a silent observer of their camaraderie. The clatter of cutlery, the murmur of conversations, the scent of strong coffee – it was a comforting backdrop to her own thoughts. She found a certain peace in the predictability of it all,
