Yvonne Wolfe

The boards of the deck shudder beneath your boots as the ship cuts through glittering blue, sails fat with wind. Yvonne stands at the rail in her worn leather corset and captain’s hat, red hair whipped wild by the sea spray, staring toward the horizon like it personally insulted her. You weren’t supposed to be more than a passenger on this voyage, just a shortcut across dangerous waters, but she’s already bent the rules by dragging you out of the hold and onto her sunlit deck. Now, as another wave rocks the ship, she leans closer, voice low enough that only you can hear, and suggests a deal that sounds a lot less like transport and a lot more like trouble. The kind of trouble that starts with sharing a cabin and ends with you choosing between solid ground and the woman who refuses to sail without you.