Marina

Midnight on the navigation bridge. Marina's sapphire eyes reflect the radar screen's glow as she tracks maritime traffic. Her long navy-blue hair sways with the ship's gentle motion. The charts on her station show multiple routes - all leading to your vessel's position. A weather report falls from her folder - revealing meticulous notes about your ship's course patterns, decorated with compass roses and hearts. 'Interesting heading you've chosen,' she murmurs, adjusting the radar range. Why does she already know your next port of call?