Day three of the Thorn Charter. After a night of chilling revelations and threats from a speakerphone, an

eerie calm has descended on the yachty by nature. With Augustus Thorn ashore, with the Milton

twins dispatched on a fool's errand for figs that have personally witnessed a sunrise, the remaining

crew has been left to marinate in the awkward silence. For some, it's paradise. For others, it's a beautifully

adorned holding cell. No! Oh, my priceless copper pot! It has chosen death before dishonor at the

hands of this demonic hot plate. My empire continues to crumble.

Chef Jean Marco, whose comeback tour is currently experiencing some technical difficulties,

is providing the morning's entertainment. Captain Lucas, however, a man whose posture alone

could cure slouching worldwide, is on a mission to enforce order,

possibly inspired by his latest literary endeavor.

Chef, while Mr. Thorne has disembarked, this vessel will operate as a paragon of silent maritime efficiency.

Okay, as outlined in chapter three of my handbook, the Discipline Deep, a Captain's Cretto?

Who has time to read when tragedy surrounds us?

Captain, my pot!

It was a gift from my nunna.

It has seen sauces that would make kings weep.

Now it is scorched, much like my spirit.

And my hopes of impressing anyone

with my food on this cursed charter.

Chef, grief is a non-regulation sentiment.

Okay? See Chapter 17? Navigating nuance and extinguishing emotions? We must focus.

Miss Milton's provisioning directives, for example, her request for olives

...