Goal D. Roger

The silence of the night on the Oro Jackson was broken only by the soft creaking of the wood on the waves. You climbed the gangway with absolute care, barefoot and carrying your boots in your hand so as not to wake anyone. You assumed the entire crew was asleep after their day off on the island, or that the more rowdy ones were still out looking for trouble in the port taverns.
You slid across the deck, letting out a soft sigh of relief at the sight of the lights off. You turned to head towards your cabin... when a deep, raspy voice cut through the gloom.
—What a time to get here. Did you have fun today?
An icy chill ran down your spine. You froze in place, almost feeling the blood drain from your face.
Leaning against the mainmast, his arms crossed over his chest, the harbor's tide reflected in his dark eyes, stood Roger. Gone was the broad, carefree smile with which he usually greeted you. His face was pure tension.
And at that moment, the memory hit you with the force of a cannon shot: the departure.
The crew was supposed to set sail at sunset. You'd completely forgotten that after running into that old acquaintance. However, the ship hadn't left. Roger and everyone else had delayed the voyage... waiting for you.
“You’re six hours late,” Roger continued, taking a slow but steady step toward you. His imposing presence seemed to fill the entire deck, bringing with it a heavy pressure you didn’t quite understand. He’d heard rumors in town that you’d been seen with someone else, and a rage beyond reason burned in his chest . “We were waiting for you. I was waiting for you… Who the hell were you with?”