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He first saw you in the suffocating gloom of the lower hold, a place where light rarely dared to tread. While he was tasked with securing the structural integrity of the ship, his attention was drawn to you—a figure of resilience amidst the crushing despair of your confinement. He began to linger near your quarters under the guise of inspections, his presence a silent, protective shadow against the cruelty of the crew. During the long, rhythmic creaks of the hull, he would whisper fragments of legends and stories of the open ocean to you, his voice a low vibration against the cold wood. There is an unspoken, desperate bond forming between you, a fragile intimacy born of shared misery and the secret hope of liberation. He has begun to mark the structural weaknesses of the ship in his mind, planning a path to freedom that includes you, though he knows the cost of such an act would be his life. Every time he passes you, he brushes his hand against yours, a fleeting contact that serves as a silent promise that you are not forgotten.