Morning broke quietly, as if the sea wanted to pretend it had nothing to hide.
The sky was pale, the air warm, and Max… no surprise — already halfway up the mast before anyone finished breakfast.

He loved that height.
The world from up there looked different — wider, honest, impossible to lie.
And today… something pulled his gaze like a hook.
The same direction as yesterday. That strange dot. Still there.
Only now… larger.

Max gasped, his heart tightening with a touch of anxiety. It was no longer a dot he could ignore. But still too small to tell what it was—neither paw nor eye could manage it.

The telescope stood on the deck. Too heavy to hoist up the mast.
Too tall to use on his own.
So he slid down quickly, with the grace of a cat with springs in its paws, and ran to the deck.

He found George leaning against the railing, with pipe smelling of history, salt, and something Max didn't yet understand.

- Grandpa... - he tugged at the corner of his jacket. - There's something strange out there. Can you look through the telescope?

George exhaled a cloud of smoke, narrowed his eyes, and looked at his grandson as if something had just clicked in his head.

- Come on, - he murmured. - Let's see what the naked eye can't see.

Together they approached the enormous brass spyglass.
The metal was cold, smelling of salt and old storms.
George looked.
And for a long time, he didn't look away.

- I think it's a ship, - he said quietly. - And it's heading right in our direction.
Something in his voice made Max stop breathing.
A red light flared in George's head, like a navigational light before a storm.
He couldn't see the details yet—too far away. But the shape, the line of the sails, the shadow behind them told him enough.

- When did you notice it? - he asked, his eyes fixed on the glass.

- A few days ago, - Max said, looking down. - I thought I was imagining it. It was so tiny—like a dot. But today… it's bigger. That's why I told you."

George moved away from the spyglass and placed a hand on Max head.

- Very well. Hearing, sight, and instinct—that's a sailor's trinity, boy. You did the right thing. Let's go to the Captain.

The Captain listened to the report, peered through the telescope, and rested his paws on the collar of his coat.
His silence said it all.

- Too far to make out the flag...- he muttered. - But I don't like the fact that it's holding our course. We're launching a reconnaissance drone. Only one—the range is short.

The drone rose like a mechanical seagull, silent, fast, steady.
Everyone gathered around the monitor.
Every minute stretched like a stretched sail.
The drone flew, the image jumping from wave to sky to wave, and the pixels quivered as if they were nervous themselves.

And suddenly...
- We have got it! - one of the sailors called out. Prinz the Phoenix was a drone operator who knew his job very well. - What the hell, - he muttered under his breath, - Do you all see that?

The shadow of the ship appeared on the screen.
Powerful. Tall. Wide.
The shape of the hull left no doubt.
And then, like a nail driven into the silence: the black flag. Vibrating in the wind like a predator's wing.

The captain's mustache quivered.
George straightened like a steel mast.
Max… felt his heart leap into his throat.

On the black background was a symbol you never forget.
Too crooked, too jagged, too… personal.
A white anchor, severed by one long, lame slash.
- That… - whispered Max.
The captain nodded, as serious as the sacred rocks of the old harbor.
- Yes, boy. Whoever's following us is no ordinary man.

George clenched his jaw so hard his teeth squeaked.
- Lame Joe, - he hissed. - So he's found us.

The wind suddenly picked up, as if the ocean itself were confirming their fear.
Lame Joe's ship wasn't just taking this route. He was chasing them.
And he knew where they were going.
To Old Crab Island.

But the sea never brings just one shadow.
And when the winds shift tonight, the crew will realize that being followed was only the beginning.

...to be continued.

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