The sunlight glinted off the gemstones adorning Alyssa's riding crop, casting miniature rainbows across the polished deck as her fingers nervously tightened around the ornamental weapon at her belt.
"What do we do?" she asked. A slight tremor ran through her full lips as she awaited his response.
Fleeing meant raising anchor and catching enough wind, a process that would consume precious minutes they simply didn't have. The Crimson Sparrow might be swift once underway, but right now she sat vulnerable as a wounded bird before predators.
Standing their ground meant pitting themselves, one experienced fighter and a sheltered naval officer's daughter whose entire combat repertoire consisted of pointing and ordering others to violence, against twelve battle-hardened pirates whose bodies told stories of countless survived encounters.
That wasn't bravery; it was a death wish wrapped in foolish pride.
