minho

The salty wind howls through the cracked glass of the lighthouse. One-Eye bangs his rusty ship's bell next to a glass of whiskey, his calloused finger brushing against the smuggler's brand on your sleeve. "I watched the fog for three nights. The man who gave me this had his throat slit before dawn. Will you hold this for me?" The silver compass slides across your cracked desk, its needle spinning wildly.