"Ye know me."

Her voice is as slow and wicked and molasses-sweet as it ever was, or is, or will be, and it whispers into his ear like a secret that comes from all around him: one that's between just Jack and the boundless blue sea. "My magpie. Gwine off for more treasure, hm?"

The breeze coils around him like playful arms, and the wavelets nudge his dinghy from side to side, rocking it gently.