The wind hit my face like freedom. It had been two days since I stole the Ecstasy. Just me, the sea, and enough canned food to last… maybe three more days. I needed to resupply — and fast — if I was going to survive the Atlantic crossing.

  I hugged the coast of Spain, sailing for hours, scanning for a harbor town. Eventually, I found one nestled inside a cove, its breakwater forming a narrow path of churning foam between stone walls.

  I squinted. It was a tight entrance.

  I tightened the sails and charged in with speed. Ecstasy sliced through the waves like a blade. I turned her into the wind and let her coast on momentum. As we slowed, I pulled the sails down and drifted neatly into an open slot at the docks.

  And that’s when I noticed a crowd — a dozen or more people running toward me.

  I cursed under my breath and reached for the pistol tucked inside my waistband. It was still there. Cold reassurance.

  A young man in a navy-blue jacket and brown trousers sprinted ahead of the others.

  “Hola, se?or!” he shouted breathlessly. “You sail that schooner?”

  “Yeah,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “Why?”

  “She’s incredible. I've never seen a rig like that. What’s your name, captain?”

  “Edward Bricknose,” I said again, still clinging to the alias. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to restock.”

  “Of course! I don’t mean to bother. Just — well, the store’s in the center of town. Same spot as the bank.”

  He looked about eighteen. Eager. Kind of like a golden retriever.

  “You wouldn't happen to know any sailors looking for work, would you?” I asked, watching him carefully.

  He paused, then pointed to himself. “Me. I’ve always wanted to sail. Especially to the Caribbean.”

  I studied him. He was young, honest-looking, probably bored out of his mind in this little town. It might be useful to have someone on board — someone who could run errands, tie knots, carry things.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “Alright,” I said. “If you can point me to a place that sells swords, and if you’re still here when I return, you’re in.”

  He grinned. “There’s a shop just around the corner.”

  “Good. Wait here. If you’re gone when I come back, I sail without you.”

  He gave me a sharp salute. I had no idea who this kid really was, but I figured no one here could steal my boat. She didn’t have a motor, and few knew how to sail something like her.

  I followed the directions to the sword shop. Inside, an old woman sat behind the counter.

  “Holla, ?qué quieres se?or?” she asked.

  I froze — I’d forgotten I was in Spain. "I’m looking for a short sword,” I said slowly. She pointed to the wall. One blade caught my eye — simple, balanced, sharp.

  “I’ll take that one,” I said, then added, “I’ll run to the bank and come back with the coin.”

  The bank was only a block away. A bored young clerk greeted me.

  “I’d like to open an account,” I said, walking toward him — then drew the pistol from my waistband.

  He raised his hands, face pale. “Wh-what do you want?”

  “Two thousand euros. Fast. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

  He nodded furiously and disappeared behind a curtain. Moments later, he returned with a stack of notes wrapped in rubber bands. I smiled and gave him a wink as I backed out the door.

  Back at the general store, I grabbed a cart, loaded it with canned food, dried fruit, wine bottles, matches — the works. Before the clerk could ring anything up, I fired a shot into the ceiling.

  Everyone froze.

  I walked out calmly, wheeled the cart toward the harbor, dropped some money on the sword shop’s counter on the way, and found the kid still waiting by the boat.

  "Grab those supplies and load the deck,” I said. “Quick.”

  He didn’t hesitate. Five minutes later, the boat was ready.

  As I untied the lines and pushed off, I glanced back.

  Police were running toward the harbor.

  Too late.

  I raised the sails, caught the wind, and turned south.

  Out on the open water, the boy introduced himself properly.

  “James Andrew Kilby,” he said, shaking my hand proudly.

  “Sanrod Bricada,” I replied. “Pleasure.”

  “You’re not actually Edward Bricknose?”

  I laughed. “Nope. Just figured I’d need a fake name in case things got complicated.”

  He grinned. “What are you running from, Sanrod?”

  I looked out at the sea. “Family. The usual. But more than that… I’m chasing something. Fun, maybe. Freedom.”

  He nodded slowly. “I left for a girl. Figured I’d find something better than heartbreak on the water.”

  “You usually do,” I said. “You any good in a fight?”

  “I can throw a punch. I’ve handled a blade. Why?”

  “Because we’re going to need more than luck if we’re sailing to the Caribbean.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You serious?”

  “Dead serious,” I said, pulling out a wrinkled map. “That’s the plan. No home. No rules. Just wind, salt, and fire.”

  James looked like he’d just been handed a treasure map. “Then let’s make this the start of something insane.”