Captain Garrett surveyed the line with a familiar warmth. "My fine officers," he greeted, his voice carrying easily over the deck. "Glad to be sailin’ with you again. It’s rare that I have a crew where I’ve worked with all of the officers before." He signaled toward Vivienne and Lewis with a broad, calloused hand. "These two are our new specialists, experts in a few things we’ll be needing. For the purposes of this voyage, they are honorary officers." Garrett angled his head at the commander.
Commander Thorne, standing tall with arms clasped behind his back, gave a sharp nod. "Proceeding with introductions and assignments, Captain."
With that, he stepped to the first officer in line. "Doctor Melodie Mercer, Surgeon. Oversees the health and wellbeing of the crew."
Vivienne barely stopped herself from staring. Doctor Mercer was stunningly beautiful. She stood with a graceful confidence, her rich, midnight-black skin shimmering with a cool blue hue in the morning light. Long, black braids cascaded over her shoulders, adorned with tiny beads and charms that clinked with her movements.
The doctor’s full lips curved into a radiant smile, her sable eyes gleaming. "What the Commander meant to say," she said, voice as smooth as silk, "is that I take great pleasure in making grown men cry."
A chuckle rippled through the officers, but Thorne’s expression remained stony as he continued.
"Purser, Laverna Omphrey. She handles all the ship's business, provisions, pay, inventory. You’ll go through her for anything you need."
Laverna’s white hair gleamed like frost, contrasting with her umber skin and sharp, assessing stare. She stood with the confidence of someone who had seen it all and had no patience for nonsense. Her deep set wrinkles spoke to her years of experience.
Her voice cut rasped like the warning of a rattlesnake. "Don’t touch anything you didn’t bring aboard without my say-so."
Vivienne made a mental note to never cross her.
Thorne moved past an empty spot and a scowl surfaced before he masked it. "Our Sailing Master is running behind schedule, so we’ll return to that later." He stopped before the next officer. "Augustus ‘Skull Crusher’ Conway, boatswain. In charge of small boats, sails, rigging, colors, anchors, and cables."
Vivienne gulped, the sound audible as her stomach somersaulted.
Conway was a walking mountain, towering easily past six and a half feet, his shoulders as broad as a doorframe. The intricate sailor tattoos wrapping his massive arms extended up his neck and onto his shaved head, marking every visible inch of skin. Chestnut-brown mustache curls, waxed to perfection, did little to soften the menace of his sheer size.
His deep, rumbling voice vibrated through the deck like distant thunder. "You can call me Gus."
Vivienne offered a small, cautious smile, while Lewis blinked rapidly behind his spectacles, looking like he might faint.
"Florence Solandis, Gunner," Thorne announced next. "She manages the ship’s guns, small arms, gunpowder, and all related equipment."
If Gus was a fortress, Florence was a dagger, small and sharp. Barely five feet tall, her lean muscles and squared stance made her look anything but helpless. A wild halo of dark, spiraled curls framed her round-featured face, and her hazelnut brown skin was offset by hazel eyes.
"Nice to be meeting you," she said in a thick, rolling accent before spitting a wad of chewing tobacco and saliva over the ship’s side.
Thorne’s lips pressed into a thin line. "Charming as ever, Ms. Solandis."
Before he could move on, a voice cut through the introductions, like warm honey but all too familiar.
"Apologies for the delay, Captain."
Vivienne’s stomach jumped into her throat as Lewis’ frame locked beside her.No, it can’t be. What are the odds that it’s?—
Commander Thorne’s square jaw tightened. "Don’t make a habit of it, Theodosia." He turned to Vivienne and Lewis, his voice flat. "Cirrus Theodosia, our Sailing Master and Navigator."
Cirrus stepped forward, his hands clasped behind his back in a mocking, perfect imitation of Thorne’s posture. His ice-blue eyes twinkled with amusement.
His lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk. "Oh, we’ve already met."
Vivienne felt heat flood her cheeks. Her pulse pounded in her ears as she locked eyes with her ex-fiancé.
13
Cirrus lounged with infuriating ease, his gaze locked on Vivienne’s discomfort, savoring every second she squirmed.What did I ever do to make the gods hate me this much?
Everything about him reeked of unearned confidence, from the way his lightning-white hair fell in careless waves to the way his bronzed skin bore the sun’s mark like a badge of honor. His linen shirt hung loose at the collar, exposing just enough tanned muscle to make a statement, the small pendant on his chain catching the morning light. He looked less like a man and more like a sculpted figure of myth—one designed for the sole purpose of getting under her skin.
"You've already met?" Commander Thorne confirmed, his tone neutral but his eyes sharp. "How serendipitous. Then working together should not be an issue."
