The pirates’ camp smelled of smoke and blood. A thin cave carved into the flank of the frozen hill had become their stronghold: tarpaulins stretched against the wind, a sputtering brazier, packs stacked in a sloppy wall. Men huddled close to the fire, sharing rum and stale bread, while three others kept watch on the ridge. Snow hissed soft against the cave mouth, but inside the men’s tempers burned hot.
Raza sat on the cold stone floor, a rope biting into his wrists, his beard frosted with the night wind. He had been dragged from the Yetis’ camp half unconscious, throat raw from shouting and freezing for days. The pirates had hauled him like a prize, more out of spite than mercy — a trophy that spoke of betrayal and the chance to reclaim what he had taken.
Ali crouched in front of him, a
