Morning came easy for once. The horizon wore a clean edge, and the gulls sounded like they’d forgiven something. Rowan eased the trawler out past the jetty and let the boat choose her first small dance with the day.
Somewhere below, currents rewrote themselves around rocks and wrecks and a hundred small histories no one would ever read. Above, a single line of light climbed the sky and didn’t let go.
He touched the compass, then the wheel, then the air—an old sailor’s trinity—and smiled without needing to explain it to anybody.
If the sea had wanted to keep the truth, it could have. Instead, it chose him. He decided to choose it back.
