The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, casting the dockyard into a brooding twilight that shrouded the bustling waterfront. By nightfall, the daily clamor of commerce and the mechanical banging of crates and cargo had given way to a more spirited cacophony. The waterfront taverns, their exteriors battered by sea winds and speckled with peeling paint, thrummed with life. Here, the air was thick with the scent of salt and ale, and the wooden floors vibrated with the stomping of heavy paws. Laughter and off-key sea shanties spilled out into the night, mingling with the salty breeze that swept across the splintered docks.

Inside the largest of these taverns, a rickety establishment affectionately dubbed "The Kraken's Embrace," the atmosphere was electric. The room was packed to the rafters with sailors, dockworkers, and a motley assortment of travelers, all pushing the building’s capacity to its limits. A colossal cargo ship had recently docked, disgorging its crew who were now eager to squander their hard-earned coins on a night of raucous entertainment. Conversations competed with each other in volume, creating a din that was nearly tangible.

At a corner table, under the dim glow of a flickering oil lamp, sat Leviathan Blackmont. He was ensconced in a game of cribbage, his expression one of inscrutable delight—a sharp contrast to his less fortunate hand. Surrounding him were four rough-looking sailors, their faces illuminated sporadically by the swaying light as they leaned over a worn-out cribbage board. Coins of copper and silver clinked and clattered as bets were placed with a casual recklessness.

"That’s a pretty four," Levi murmured as he appraised his four-card hand, his gaze subtly shifting towards the shadowed nook behind the opponent across from him. There, somewhere hidden from view, was Rowan, his partner in this delicate dance of deceit. From her vantage point, she could send subtle cues to Levi, guiding him on which cards to discard and keeping him apprised of the other players' hands. Her role was critical, her signals clandestine and precise, communicating the hidden dangers and opportunities of the game. Each time a new trade ship brought new faces and fresh purses through the tavern doors, this was their routine. Sailors, rich with the wages of the sea and loose in their jubilation, were perfect marks for their subtle trade.

"‘Nother two?" the sailor beside him jeered, a burly man with a mane like a bramble bush, his voice thick with the stench of ale and worse.

"Two’s better than none," Levi responded with a practiced ease, his smile a permanent fixture that seemed to mock the cards themselves. Despite his bad luck tonight, his confidence was unshaken, bolstered by the secret advantage Rowan provided from her hidden vantage point. Each move he made was calculated, guided by her unseen hand.

Rowan