The wind had stilled, leaving only the muted hush of the sea breathing against the rocks far below. Elise stood frozen, her breath quickening, the heavy pull of the fog pressing against her chest as though it were a physical weight.
Maris no longer struggled against Elias's steady grip, but her eyes were locked on something beyond the cliff's edge. Elise followed her gaze, squinting into the gloom. At first she saw only the rolling whiteness—then, a darker shadow began to take form.
It rose slowly from the water like some massive, barnacle-encrusted pillar. But pillars didn't move. This one swayed, turning with impossible slowness until Elise could almost—almost—make out the suggestion of shoulders, of a bowed head.
The bell sounded again, and the shape shifted. A glimmer of rusted metal caught the faint moonlight—a chain? A lantern? She couldn't tell.
Elias's voice broke through her thoughts. "Back. Both of you."
She didn't argue. They half-led, half-dragged Maris away from the cliff, the girl's bare feet leaving pale crescents in the frost-slick grass. The bell's echo lingered, though no new toll followed.
When they reached the narrow path leading back to the village, Elias stopped, glancing toward the lighthouse in the distance. "That's the closest I've ever seen it," he said grimly. "And the first time it's come when I wasn't alone."
Elise tried to steady her breathing. "What is it?"
He hesitated, then said, "The old folk call it the Watchman. I've kept the light burning every night to keep him out of the harbor… but if he's this close now—"
From behind them, Maris spoke for the first time since they'd pulled her from the cliff. "He's not here for the harbor," she murmured. "He's here for me."
The next morning, the fog hadn't lifted. It clung to the village like damp wool, muffling sound and bending the shape of things. People moved slower, as if the weight of the air made their limbs heavy.
Elise had meant to return to the infirmary to examine Maris again, but found herself detouring toward the harbor instead. Something about the Watchman—if that was truly what she'd seen—gnawed at her.
An old fisherman named Hobb was mending nets near the pier. His face was a road map of creases, his beard thick and the color of driftwood. When she asked if he knew about the Watchman, he didn't meet her eyes.
"Some say he's the soul of a drowned keeper," Hobb muttered. "Others say he's older than the village itself. Doesn't matter. You hear the bell, you keep indoors. And you never follow the sound."
Elise was about to press further when Hobb looked sharply toward the mouth of the harbor. The fog there seemed… wrong. It wasn't drifting naturally, but coiling, like smoke rising from some unseen fire.
"Elise!" Elias's voice came from the far side of the dock. He was striding toward her, his coat flaring in the cold wind. "You shouldn't be here."
She frowned. "Why? It's daylight."
"That doesn't matter anymore." He took her arm. "The fog's changing."
Somewhere deep in that dense white wall, a faint metallic chime rang once. Not the church bell. Not any bell Elise had ever heard on land.
The Watchman was moving in daylight