Noel didn't waste time easing into it.
He moved up beside Gustave while the crew kept straining against the hull, voices rough and uneven as ropes creaked under the effort. The ship groaned again, stubborn as its captain had said, refusing to budge more than a few inches at a time.
"Walk me through it," Noel said, tone calm, practical. "What's holding and what isn't."
Gustave wiped a hand across his mouth and nodded toward the ship. "Hull's sound," he said. "No splits, no flooding. That's the miracle. Steering took the worst of it—rudder's misaligned, some internal damage. She won't move on her own like this." He exhaled. "We tried forcing her back into the water. Didn't get far."
"So it's muscle and time," Noel said.
"And hands," Gustave replied. "Which we're short on."
Noel nodded once, then asked the next question without hesitation. "Supplies."
