The rain came softly at first—a faint mist, barely more than a chill against her skin. Seraphine barely noticed it. She stood at the bow, her hands still trembling faintly against the railing, her breath shallow. Her eyes remained fixed on the spot where he had disappeared.


    He’s gone.


    The words circled in her mind, but she didn’t believe them. Her knuckles still ached from gripping the railing too hard, her muscles stiff with the lingering tension of what she had seen—what she knew she had seen. No trick of the light or fractured reflection could explain the gleam of his eyes, the slow, fluid rise of his body from the deep, or the unnatural shadow that moved independently of the current.


    She forced a breath into her lungs, trying to steady herself. It wasn’t real. She told herself the lie again, but the salt clung to her lips like a reminder.


    The rain thickened. Tiny droplets kissed her cheeks, sliding down her skin in thin, cool lines. The wind had shifted, turning sharp and unpredictable. It whistled against the sails, the sudden gusts tugging at the rigging with jerking, uneven force.


    The ship’s once gentle sway grew restless.


    Seraphine inhaled deeply, tasting the storm on the wind—the strange, electric bitterness of it. She stared at the horizon. The once pale clouds had blackened into a seamless wall, stretching across the sea like a closing fist. Heavy and bruised, they pressed down upon the water, darkening the surface to ink.


    She turned slightly, glancing toward the crew. They moved with tense, purposeful efficiency, securing lines and tightening the canvas. Their voices, once low murmurs, had sharpened. Even the captain’s commands, usually so measured, were clipped and taut.


    "Shorten the sails!" someone called out.


    The crew scrambled to obey. The canvas groaned against the rising wind, snapping violently with each sudden gust. Two men wrestled with the halyard, their shoulders straining against the wild flapping of the mainsail. The ship jerked violently as the first heavy swell struck the hull.


    Seraphine’s fingers slipped slightly on the wet railing, but she didn’t move. The storm was closing in.


    The sea was no longer calm—it was restless, coiling in slow, deliberate heaves. The waves rolled heavily beneath the ship, thick and black with only the faintest edges of silver where the rain slashed the surface. The familiar rocking motion of the vessel became erratic.


    Still, she didn’t retreat. Her hair clung to her temples, rain sliding down her neck, soaking the linen at her throat. Her cloak dragged heavily against her shoulders, weighed down by the rain, but she barely registered the chill. She stared at the sea, watching for him. For the shadow.


    Her pulse pressed painfully against her throat. She knew she should move, should return below deck before the storm reached its full fury, but her feet were rooted. Her gaze drifted down, scanning the black water, straining to pierce the gloom. She didn’t want to see him again. She didn’t want him to be gone either.


    Thunder cracked overhead. The sound ripped through the thickening air, reverberating through the hull. The ship groaned, shuddering as the wind seized the mast, pulling at it with wild fingers.


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    Another wave struck the hull, heavier this time. The ship pitched violently to one side, and she lurched forward. Her palm scraped against the slick wood, fingers slipping as the ship righted itself. Her heart slammed in her chest.


    Get below deck.


    She didn’t move.


    She swallowed against the dryness in her throat and glanced back at the crew. The men were shouting orders now, their voices barely audible over the wailing wind. One sailor clung to the shrouds, his knuckles bone-white, eyes squinting against the rain. They were bracing for it.


    A streak of lightning illuminated the sky, casting the ship in a stark, blinding glare. For a brief moment, the sea turned silver and black, the rain dazzling like shards of glass. Seraphine’s eyes flicked back to the water—and she stilled.


    There.


    She saw him.


    For only a breath, the lightning revealed his form just beyond the waves, half-obscured by the churning sea. His face emerged from the water’s edge, pale and haunting, eyes black as the deep, gleaming with that same unyielding stillness. His hair clung to his face, the tips trailing in the water. The ridges along his arms pulsed faintly, glowing softly for only a heartbeat before the light vanished.


    The darkness returned, erasing him.


    Her breath hitched. Her knuckles blanched as she clung to the railing. He was real. She turned sharply, glancing at the crew. Had they seen?


    No. The storm had their full attention.


    Another wave slammed against the hull, sending a shudder through the deck. The ship groaned, listing slightly before righting itself again. The rain thickened into sheets, heavy and slashing, pelting her exposed skin with needle-like stings. Her cloak was sodden, dragging against her shoulders, slowing her movements.


    She should have gone below deck. But she lingered, her eyes sweeping the water, searching for him again.


    The next wave came without warning.


    It struck the hull broadside with a deafening crash, splitting the air with a hollow, splintering roar. The ship pitched violently beneath her feet. The deck tilted sharply, and Seraphine’s boots skidded across the slick wood. Her fingers clawed for the railing, but the sudden, jarring force loosened her grip.


    For a heartbeat, she was weightless.


    Her stomach lurched violently as the world tipped. The spray of the sea rose up to meet her, sharp and frigid. The water hit her like stone, knocking the breath from her chest in a harsh, shocking burst. The cold stole everything—the warmth from her limbs, the air from her lungs. The salt seared her throat as she gasped, the icy burn cutting like glass. She thrashed wildly, her arms flailing against the current, boots heavy with water, pulling her down. The rain battered the surface above her, muffled and distorted, but she could still hear the ship—a distant roar, already slipping away.


    She kicked hard, breaking the surface for a moment, her mouth open in a sharp, desperate gasp. Water choked her throat, her eyes stinging. The sky was nothing but a blur of black rain and pale streaks of lightning. She fought, her limbs sluggish against the weight of her sodden cloak. She kicked again, but the current was faster, pulling her away from the ship. She screamed, but the wind stole the sound.


    The cold burned deeper, her limbs growing heavy. She was sinking faster, the weight of her clothes dragging her down. Her legs tangled in the fabric of her skirts, the wet linen clinging to her ankles like a snare.


    Her arms flailed, but she was falling—falling into the blackness.


    No. No, no, no.


    Her pulse hammered against her ribs, terror strangling her breath. She twisted, gasping for air, her chest tightening with panic. The sea poured into her throat, brine and darkness, stinging her lungs. She kicked frantically, fighting against the invisible hand pulling her deeper.


    Then she saw him. Beneath her, rising through the gloom. His eyes gleamed black, unblinking in the storm-lit water. His body moved with an unnatural grace, slipping upward with the easy, fluid precision of the current itself.


    And he was coming for her.


    Her limbs slowed. Her head swam. She sank deeper, her lungs burning, her vision darkening.


    The last thing she saw was his hand reaching for her, the black water swirling around him.


    And then the sea swallowed her whole.