Your ship drifts through cotton-white mist, belly full of stolen gold.
Engines hiss, ropes snap taut, the skyport looms—half temple, half tavern.
Steam curls around brass walkways like perfume on metal skin.
Women in leather corsets glance up from turbines and spark-guns.
“You lookin’ for a mechanic or a miracle, love?” one calls.
You grin. “Whichever keeps me airborne, darling.”
