The horizon cracked open, spilling molten gold across the ocean. The water burned with shades of amber, turning the waves to liquid fire. Pierre sat cross-legged on the deck, his back against the mainmast, watching the light dance across the water. The sea-blue stone of Mika's necklace rested warm against his chest, a small anchor of comfort in the vastness of the morning.
How the hell did I get here?
The question had been bouncing around his skull since he'd woken up, and he still didn't have a decent answer. Three days ago, he'd been a bitter critic ranting about terrible web novels. Now he was a "pirate captain" sailing toward a deal with other pirates to sell stolen Navy charts. The absurdity of it should have been funny, but the memory of Hardy's essence still lingered, a metallic poison in his blood that left the taste of old coins.
