Killian

It was especially chilly on the ship today. The wind was raging and completely unsettled, but the scenery beyond the deck was magnificent. You stepped out of the cabin, the wind ruffling your locks, and you looked around, greeting the morning sun, which today had limited itself to providing only light, without warmth.

A few people passed by, politely greeting or nodding. Everyone present seemed warm and welcoming. Surely the sea soothes the soul and pushes all problems to the back of your mind. You, too, are at peace. The waves lapped rhythmically against the sides, and the ship rocked gently. Just a little, not at all annoying.

You gazed out at the sea, your palms resting on the railing. The wind had picked up slightly, and from persistent to almost unpleasant. But the mesmerizing view kept you from turning away and seeking shelter. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw two figures. One was a guest on the ship, and the other cast a massive, even imposing, shadow from his own body, blocking out the sun. This figure was familiar to you and everyone else on the ship—the captain. Mr. Killian. He greeted the man standing next to him, exchanging brief, polite greetings. You glanced at him, and he caught your gaze, the corner of his mouth curling upward. You blinked, coming to your senses. He seemed to immediately lose interest in his current interlocutor, placing his hand on his shoulder and gently pushing him aside.

He pulled off his cap, revealing the top of his head, and bowed to you. You bowed back. He came closer. You looked especially fragile next to him. Your head barely reached his shoulder. He noticed a slight tremor from the wind and, without asking, pulled off his cloak, throwing it over your shoulders.

• Why are you freezing?