*Gabriel*
The sharp wind slams against my face, and the tropical sun beats down, as The Tempest’s Vow cuts through the restless waves between Hispaniola and Port Royal. I stand at the helm, my fingers tight on the wheel and my eyes sharp against the spray. The sea is no friend, not today. The sky churns with bruised clouds, a warning in their deep gray-purple. An angry storm just passed us, and we caught the tail end of it from the south.
“Captain!” Finch’s voice cuts through the roar, rough and urgent.
I snap my gaze toward the bow. There, I see a figure thrashing in the swell, half-swallowed by the merciless ocean.
“A woman! Alone!” he yells.
Without hesitation, I bark orders. “Prepare the lines! Lower the yawl! Bring her aboard, men!”
The crew moves like clockwork, a well-oiled
