“Quiet,” the man growled. His breath carried the acrid scent of cigarettes and salt. Liam froze, too terrified to speak again. The knife worked the latch loose, and with a final snap the crate came open. Inside, cushioned in foam, lay Liam’s instruments: gleaming metal, polished lenses, delicate arms and sensors. Expensive, specialized, irreplaceable.
The pirate whistled low, calling the others over. They crowded the box, muttering in a language Liam couldn’t follow. Their voices held satisfaction, like scavengers finding a rich carcass. Ethan’s jaw tightened. He leaned subtly toward Liam, his words low and steady. “Don’t move. Don’t say a word. The less attention we draw, the better chance we’ve got.”