Captain Felicity Sandwhisker heard the trade route from two drunk sailors. She crouched behind a barrel in the smoky tavern, her dark calico ears flat, and caught every word. An unmapped route. Untouched. Rich. She had lost her old ship years ago, and she wanted a new one badly enough to steal a stranger's careless talk. Before the men finished their drinks, she was gone. She woke her Merkitty crew that same night. They did not love her, and she knew it. They came because she fed them and steered them. That was enough. She led them down to the water and onto her ship, its steering wheel wrapped in the dark shape of an octopus. The sea was black. The sky was black. She could barely tell them apart. "Row," she said. "Row until my hands stop." Felicity sat at the bow with her harp. She plucked the strings, slow and steady, and her crew fell silent at once. No grumbling. No complaints. Only the beat she set. The oars dipped together. The ship cut forward through the dark water. She played faster. They rowed faster. For a moment she forgot the years she had spent waiting for this chance. Then the ship struck something. The hull screamed. Wood cracked like breaking bone. Felicity flew forward and slammed against the deck. Her harp skidded away into the dark. She grabbed the rail and hauled herself up. Ahead, half-hidden in the black waves, sat a tall rock. It glittered faintly, like wet coal. It had blended into the water. She had never seen it coming. The ship split in two against the rock. Both halves lifted and groaned. Cold water rushed over her paws. "Swim!" she shouted. "Get to shore! Now!" Her crew did not panic. They dove and swam, tails flashing, because staying meant drowning and drowning helped no one. Felicity swam last. She dragged one exhausted crewmate by the arm when he stopped kicking. His small feline face sagged. She did not let go until his paws touched ground. They crawled onto sand. It was black too, and it glittered under a thin moon. Felicity lay on her back and breathed. Around her, her crew coughed and shivered. A skeletal black fish flopped in the shallows, then slid back into the dark. No one spoke. When she could stand, Felicity looked back at the water. Her ship lay broken across the rock. Two ruined halves. Splintered planks bobbed in the surf. The trade route was gone. Everything she had planned was gone. She stared at the black rock that had killed her ship. She had never hated anything more. Felicity turned to her crew on the cold sand. "We build a new one," she said. "From this wreck. From whatever washes up." No one argued. No one left. The island held them all.