The mess hall hummed with noise—laughter, the clatter of tankards, and the occasional sharp slap of cards hitting the scarred wooden table. Smoke from a pipe curled lazily upward, blending with the salty tang of the sea air that seeped through the ship's creaking seams. The sailors were loud, their voices rising and falling with each round of their game.
Taryn sat on the periphery, her back straight and her arms folded tightly across her chest. She shifted in her chair, her eyes darting to every sound, every movement in the room. The laughter, the bursts of conversation—it all grated against her instincts. She hated being surrounded, outnumbered. Vulnerable.