The Christmas in Seabreeze was, for Marcus, everything he had silently yearned for. The bakery bustled, filled with the aroma of cinnamon and pine, the laughter of children echoed from the town square, and for the first time, he felt truly present in his family's joy. He watched Clara, her face glowing as she served customers, saw Anya's pride in her displayed artwork, and shared a deep, contented look with Leo as they watched the town light up. It was a fragile, precious peace.
But peace, as Marcus knew well, was often fleeting. A cold dread settled in his stomach a few weeks into the new year. It started subtly: a dark sedan with tinted windows parked too long near the docks, an unfamiliar face lingering at the edge of the bakery's outdoor seating, a news report about a minor international incident that, to Marcus's hyper-tuned senses, felt eerily familiar. The whispers of his past, he realized, were no longer just in his mind.
He began to take precautions. His morning jogs turned into strategic patrols, his casual observations into surveillance. He tightened the security of the dilapidated cottage he called home, reinforcing locks, installing subtle tripwires – the kind that would alert him, not harm an intruder. He found himself falling back into old habits, movements he thought he'd shed, a quiet alertness that had been his constant companion for decades. The general was stirring.
One evening, while working late with Leo on a fishing vessel, Marcus noticed a figure loitering at the end of the pier, seemingly inspecting the boats. He dismissed it at first, but the figure remained, unnaturally still. When Marcus suggested they wrap up, the figure abruptly walked away, disappearing into the fog.
"Anything wrong, Elias?" Leo asked, wiping his brow.
"Just a feeling," Marcus replied, his gaze fixed on the disappearing figure. "Best to be cautious."
The next day, a small, discreet package arrived at the cottage. Inside was an old, battered military compass, a personal item Marcus had thought long lost. Attached was a single, cryptic note: "The tide is turning. Are you ready, General?"
A cold wave washed over him. This wasn't a random threat. This was personal. Someone knew. Someone from his past, or someone who had painstakingly unearthed it. His 'death' had been thorough, but clearly, not absolute. The peace he had so carefully built, the simple life he cherished, was once again under threat. The general in him tightened, a familiar coil of readiness. He had believed he was letting go, but it seemed his past wasn't ready to let go of him. The quiet existence of Elias Vance was once again on a collision course with the ghost of General Thorne.