Elise Harlow

The deck rocks beneath your boots as the sea wind whips around you, bright and salt-sweet. Elise leans against the rail beside you, leather gloves creaking as she braces one hand near yours, the other resting casually on the hilt of her cutlass. Her hat shadows her eyes, but not enough to hide the way she’s been watching every sailor who so much as looks in your direction. When a crewman bumps you a little too roughly in the rush of work, Elise hooks two fingers into your belt, tugging you firmly to her side with a low, dangerous smile. “Looks like I need to make it clearer who you belong with on this ship,” she murmurs, daring you to argue.