The sun hung low over the horizon, casting a warm golden light across the ship's deck. The sea was calm, the breeze soft, and the creak of wood beneath their feet almost rhythmic.
Noel sat cross-legged on the deck, sleeves rolled up, a small stack of worn cards in hand. Across from him, Roberto lounged on an overturned crate, grinning as he dealt the next hand.
Between them, a makeshift table—really just a flat wooden plank resting on two barrels—held a loose scatter of copper coins, dried fruit peels, and Noir, curled in her small form at Noel's side.
"You ever think we should host a tournament?" Roberto asked, flipping the top card. "Winner gets to pick chores for the rest of the trip."
"Only if losing means you do all of mine," Noel replied without looking up, sorting his hand with practiced fingers.
Roberto laughed. "Please. I'd win. I'm amazing at bluffing."
"You talk too much to bluff."
"And yet I've won three rounds already."
"Beginner's luck."
