The summer heat of Calabria gave way to a slow, golden autumn as we meandered south toward the Ionian islands. Weeks blurred into months without the artificial rhythm of quarterly reports or global emergency pings. The sea had become our only clock, its tides the only deadlines we recognized.
I woke to the soft, rhythmic patter of a light rain against the deck overhead. Inside the main cabin, the air was warm, smelling faintly of brewed chicory and polished cedar. Ethan was sitting at the nav station, his long legs stretched out into the aisle, a mug resting between his palms as he stared peacefully out the porthole at the mist-shrouded green hills of Cephalonia.
He turned as I stepped out from the aft berth, his dark eyes instantly softening into that familiar, quiet warmth that had lon
