Quinton watched Ayla carefully as she voiced her concerns, her words laced with an earnestness that tugged at something deep within him. The weariness in her tone was undeniable, and he could see the toll that maintaining this charade was taking on her. As the small boat rocked gently with each pull of the oars, he considered her words, the weight of his responsibility to her—and to his crew—pressing down upon him.

He pushed this thought aside and focused on the water in front and the oars in his hands. The tough skin along them seemed like steel as he rowed again and again to get them to the ship. He found it helpful to have a physical activity to focus on while looking into Ayla's eyes. He then looked past her at the lighthouse and small community beyond it. 

"Ayla," he began, his voice low and steady, "you're will not be a burden because you are going to work harder than you ever have to help this crew make it across the horn. You will prove to me that your deceit was for the betterment, given the circumstances." He paused, allowing his words to sink in before continuing. "As for the crew, you have nothing to fear. They're loyal to me, and that loyalty extends to those written into the blood contract. They might have their own opinions, but they know better than to cross the agreement as they need this ship to remain afloat just as much as you do."

"That said," he added, "the passengers are another matter. I can't control their thoughts or actions, and some may be... less understanding. But know this—I won't let anyone harm you. Not on my ship." They had finally reached the ship and the Captain called out to have them brought up and aboard. "Share with you who wish. Tell me when you do so I may have my own words with them."