Ravensblood Forest letter of marque

meredith didn’t flinch. didn’t waver. her eyes, storm-wrought and steady, slid to nox with a look that said she already understood more than he’d spoken aloud. she’d known this ship long enough to see the cracks forming before others did. knew what happened when a man like crowell started slipping.

aye, she murmured, the word carrying the weight of iron in its quiet.

then she turned, already moving, already plotting the course to corner a man like crowell and make him talk. she didn’t need to like the order—she just needed it done.