Relief moved across her face for the first time.
“Andrew.”
Blake went still.
The older man looked at him.
“Blake?”
Then he saw the photograph in his son’s hand.
His face emptied.
He crossed the distance faster than his cane suggested he could.
“Give that to her.”
Blake’s mouth opened.
“Dad-”
“Now.”
The room reacted before the captain did.
Every sailor nearby understood that something had shifted, even if they did not know the relationship yet.
Blake lowered the photograph.
Victoria took it from him carefully and pressed it against her coat.
Andrew Warren looked at the broken clasp on her leather bag, the gravy on her collar, the scattered belongings, and the spilled tea beneath the table.
“What happened?”
Nobody answered.
The young petty officer near the wall did.
“Captain Warren struck her tray, Senior Chief.”
Andrew turned toward him.
The petty officer swallowed.
“Then he grabbed her bag.”
Blake’s face hardened.
“Miller, be careful.”
Andrew looked at his son.
“No. You be careful.”
The words were quiet and devastating.
Blake took a breath.
