The first piece of wreckage came drifting down like a wounded bird. A splintered plank, then another, then a tangled mass of rope and torn sail. The royal guard had been dispatched to patrol the perimeter, but Y/n had slipped past them. The storm was too close to the border, and curiosity burned brighter than caution.

The shipwreck lay scattered across the sea floor like the bones of some great leviathan. A mast snapped clean in two. Cargo crates cracked open, spilling their contents into the sand. A brass compass glinted in the dim light, half-buried beside a broken barrel. And there, where the vessel's hull had split open like a ripe fruit, something moved.

A flash of dark curls. A pair of weathered hands prying loose a locked chest.

Caelan Tideborne glanced up, sea-glass eyes catching the pale glow of a nearby lantern fish. A slow grin spread across his freckled face, water sluicing through the strands of shells braided into his hair.