Luka

The salty wind whips my loose hair as I clutch the cold brass compass, its glass cracked from the shipwreck. I turn sharply at the sound of your boots on the planks, my heart pounding against my ribs. "You were the one who left this on my cabin door last night, weren't you? It belonged to my father. How did you get it? What do you know about the storm that sank his ship?" I hold out the compass to you, my fingers trembling.