By dawn, word had spread through Briarwall like a whisper passed from door to door: someone was missing.
Elise heard it first from Mrs. Pell, the grocer's wife, who caught her sleeve in the narrow lane. "Jonas Pierce," she said, breathless. "Never came home last night. Left the dock before midnight, that's what they say. The fog took him."
The fog took him. The phrase clung to Elise's thoughts like damp wool. In a town like Briarwall, where every superstition had a name and a lineage, that was more than just a figure of speech.
At the harbor, men stood in tight knots, voices low. Jonas's small fishing boat had been found adrift near the mouth of the cove, lantern still lit, nets neatly stowed, no sign of a struggle. The only thing out of place was a single boot, resting upright in the stern, as if Jonas had simply stepped out of it and walked into the fog.
Elise scanned the gathered faces for Maris but found no sign of her. When she asked around, the responses were vague—Maris had been seen near the pier earlier, then not at all.
Sheriff Alden was trying to maintain order, but his voice cracked more than once as he barked instructions. "No one goes out alone. Stay indoors after dark. This is not—" He hesitated. "—this is not like before."
Before. Elise felt her pulse spike. She wanted to ask, but the sheriff's eyes slid away, avoiding hers.
By midday, the fog had thickened again, pressing against the windows of the small tavern where the townsfolk gathered for warmth and speculation. Conversations swirled around Elise as she sat in the corner, scribbling in her notebook.
"He was marked."
"The sea's claiming its due."
"It's the bell—you hear it, you're next."
And then, from the far end of the table, a voice Elise recognized: Maris.
"He knew," Maris said calmly, sipping from a chipped mug. "Jonas told me he'd heard the Watchman three nights ago."
Every head turned toward her.
"And you didn't warn him?" a man demanded.
Maris's gaze was steady. "Warnings don't change the tide."
Elise rose and crossed the room. "Where were you last night?" she asked under her breath.
Maris's lips curled in the faintest smile. "Counting."
Before Elise could press further, the bell sounded again—faint, somewhere beyond the harbor. The tavern fell silent. People strained to hear, their faces pale.
It rang seven times.
Elise felt a shiver crawl along her spine. Count to seven. The words from her dream returned, unwelcome. And for the first time since arriving in Briarwall, she wondered if the fog's hunger had already chosen its next course.