Shouts erupted as figures stood at the bow, ropes in hand. Hooks clanged against the railing. The boarders were coming. The silence after the engine’s death was deafening. No comforting hum, no steady push forward—only the creak of wood and the slap of waves against the hull. Liam’s chest heaved, every breath sharp and shallow.
His eyes stayed locked on the approaching figures, dark silhouettes against the sunlit spray. “They’re going to take everything,” he whispered. His voice trembled so badly the words almost broke apart. “My equipment… months of work… all of it.” His hands twitched toward the nearest case, as though holding it could somehow protect it.