The Black Wake creaked like an old beast at rest, timbers groaning as the tide rolled beneath her hull. Lanternlight swayed across the captain’s quarters, painting the walls in slow, honeyed gold.

Captain Isadora “Iza” Crowe lounged back in her chair, boots propped on the edge of her desk, one hand wrapped around a dented tankard of beer. Foam sloshed dangerously close to the parchment spread beneath her—an inked map scarred with notes, bloodstains, and burned edges from a dozen raids too many.

She squinted at it, unimpressed.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Iza groaned as the ship rocked harder than expected. The beer surged over the rim, spilling in a pale froth directly across the map’s eastern markings. “You had one job,” she muttered to the drink, giving it a sharp shake like it had personally betrayed her.

She took another long gulp anyway, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. The foam left a bitter line across the ink.

“Ruined. Absolutely ruined,” she grumbled.

The door to her quarters slammed open without so much as a knock.

“CAP’N—!”

Isadora’s chair scraped violently as she stood in one smooth motion, tankard thudding onto the desk. Her dark coat shifted open, belts and gold buckles glinting as she turned a sharp, dangerous glare toward the intruder.

The poor bastard froze mid-step.

It was Finn Calder, one of her deckhands—young, freckled, perpetually out of breath. He was panting hard, hands braced on his knees like he’d sprinted the length of the ship twice over.

She folded her arms slowly.

“Do you knock,” Iza said flatly, “or were you raised by feral seabirds?”

Finn swallowed. “S-sorry, Captain. I just—”

“You just what?” she snapped.

He straightened, breath hitching. “We… uh. We caught somethin’.”

Her brow twitched. “Caught what.”

Finn hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s the thing. Might be a… mermaid? Or—or a siren. Maybe.”

The world seemed to pause.

Iza’s breath stopped mid-inhale.

Her voice dropped. “A what.”

Finn shrugged helplessly. “She ain’t singin’ or nothin’. So… maybe not a siren?”

A low grunt rumbled from Iza’s chest. She reached for the sword at her hip, fingers curling around the worn leather of its hilt.

“Out of my way.”

She shoved past Finn hard enough to send him stumbling back into the corridor. Her boots struck the deck with purpose as she stormed out, coat flaring behind her like a storm cloud given form.

“Gods help you if this is a joke,” she muttered.

Finn scrambled after her. “I swear on the Wake, Captain!”

The deck was chaos when they emerged.

Crewmembers clustered near the bow, voices overlapping—arguments, speculation, fear bleeding into excitement.

“—cut the net—” “—what if it curses us—” “—throw it back—” “—she’s got legs—”

“SHUT. UP.”

Iza’s voice cut through the noise like a cannon blast.

Silence fell instantly.

She strode forward, dark eyes locking onto the tangled net sprawled across the deck.

Inside it lay a body.

Still. Pale in the lanternlight. Wet hair clung to bare skin, strands of it dark and shimmering like kelp pulled from the sea. For one sharp second, Iza thought—

Dead.

Then she saw the rise and fall of a chest.

Alive.

Iza exhaled through her nose and turned sharply on Finn. “You told me this was a mermaid.”

Finn gestured helplessly. “She could be disguisin’ herself! You know the stories—magic, legs, illusions—”

Iza looked back at the figure in the net.

“This,” she said dryly, “is a naked human woman.”

Finn winced. “Could still be magic?”

She scoffed. “Could also be you’re an idiot.”

A few of the crew snickered before immediately snapping straight when Iza shot them a warning look.

She turned back to the net, gaze narrowing.

The woman was young. Too young to be dead-eyed or monstrous. Her skin gleamed with seawater, unmarred except for faint bruises along her wrists where the net had caught her.

Iza clenched her jaw.

“Towel,” she barked. “Now.”

Several men hesitated.

She whirled on them. “And turn the fuck around before I toss you overboard myself.”

They gulped in unison and obeyed instantly, backs rigidly facing the sea.

“Men,” Iza muttered under her breath.

A tall woman stepped forward—Maera Blythe, one of Iza’s most trusted crew. Broad-shouldered, scarred, and sharp-eyed, she carried a massive towel folded over her arms like an offering.

“Here, Cap’n.”

Iza took it, nodding once in thanks.

She spread the towel on a crate, then crouched beside the net. Carefully—far more carefully than her reputation suggested—she scooped the woman up. The weight was warm. Real. Alive.

Iza straightened with her in her arms.

“Back to work,” she ordered the deck. “And mop this damn deck before someone slips.”

“Yes, Captain!” the crew shouted, scattering.

Finn lingered. Iza shot him a look. “You too.”

He vanished.

She carried the woman back below deck, through the narrow corridor into her private quarters—the space that served as both office and sleeping room. The door shut behind them with a firm click.

Iza laid her gently on the wooden bed frame, the mattress creaking softly. She used the towel to dry her hair first, fingers surprisingly gentle as she worked water from dark strands.

The woman stirred faintly. A soft sound left her throat—not words, just breath.

Iza paused.

“…Easy,” she murmured, almost against her will.

She moved to her closet, rummaging until she found an old shirt and a pair of loose trousers—spoils from a raid long ago. She set them beside the bed.

When she turned back, the woman was awake.

Wide eyes. Panicked. Her breath quickened as she tried to push herself up, hands trembling.

“Hey—hey,” Iza said quickly, dropping to one knee beside the bed. She lifted her hands, palms open. “Easy. You’re safe. No one’s touching you.”

The woman stared at her, chest heaving, eyes darting like a trapped animal’s.

Iza reached out slowly, brushing wet hair from her face. Her touch was warm. Steady.

“Breathe,” she said softly. “I won’t hurt you.”

The panic didn’t fade—but it stilled, just a fraction.

Iza swallowed, studying her more closely now. There was something… other about her. Not monstrous. Not wrong. Just different. Like the sea itself had pressed a fingerprint into her skin.

She lowered her voice. “What’s your name?”