Sheriff Alden sat alone in his office when Elise pushed the door open. The air inside was thick with the smell of tobacco and damp leather, the windows fogged so heavily that the room seemed cut off from the world beyond. A single lantern burned low on his desk, illuminating the stack of unfinished reports that lay untouched. He looked older than she remembered, as though the last two days had carved years into his face.
"You shouldn't be here," he muttered without lifting his eyes.
Elise set the ledger down on his desk with a sharp thud. The sound made him flinch.
"I found it," she said. "The names. The disappearances. Every seven years, without fail."
Finally, Alden's gaze rose to meet hers. His eyes were bloodshot, the weariness in them bordering on resignation. He didn't even feign ignorance. "You weren't meant to see that."
"Meant?" Elise's voice was steady, but her heart raced. "Jonas Pierce is gone. You knew it was coming, didn't you? You've always known."
Alden exhaled, leaning back heavily in his chair. "Knowing and stopping are two different things, Miss Harrington. We've tried… Lord knows, we've tried. But the sea takes what it's owed."
He tapped his pipe against the edge of the desk, the sound oddly rhythmic, as though he were marking time with each knock.
"What debt does Briarwall owe?" Elise demanded. "What bargain was struck that people must vanish into fog like offerings?"
The sheriff's lips pressed thin. For a long moment, Elise thought he might remain silent. But then he spoke, voice low, gravelly, as if confessing to the walls more than to her.
"It began long before I was born. My grandfather used to tell the tale by the fire—how the first settlers of Briarwall nearly starved. The sea was cruel, storms constant, the soil here thin and bitter. Then came a man they called the Watchman. Said he was no ordinary sailor, but something older. He offered them a pact: safety from the storms, fish in their nets, prosperity… but in return, the sea would call someone back every seventh year. A soul for survival."
Elise felt her stomach turn cold. "And they agreed to this?"
"What choice did they have?" Alden spread his hands, palms rough and scarred. "Without him, they'd have perished. And so the pact was sealed. Every seven years, like clockwork, the fog rolls in, the bell tolls, and someone disappears. Always someone different. Always chosen. And we—" He broke off, his voice faltering. "We live with it. We endure."
Elise's mind reeled. "Endure? You mean accept. You knew Jonas would be taken, and you did nothing."
Alden's hand slammed the desk, rattling the lantern. "You think I wanted this? You think I haven't lost kin to it myself? My uncle was one of the vanished. My sister nearly was—she heard the bell but survived the year, only to waste away, claiming she saw shapes in the fog until the day she died."
The room fell silent but for the soft hiss of the lantern flame.
Elise's voice dropped to a whisper. "What about this year? Is there a list? Do you know who's marked?"
The sheriff hesitated, then opened a drawer and withdrew a folded piece of parchment. His hands shook as he passed it across the desk. Elise unfolded it slowly. Her eyes scanned the names, and a chill clawed its way down her spine.
Jonas Pierce. Already gone.
Martha Pell.
Arthur Cray.
Reverend Crowthorne.
Sheriff Alden.
Elise Harrington.
Maris Dyer.
Elise's breath caught. "Me?"
Alden nodded grimly. "The fog chooses outsiders, sometimes. Maybe to balance bloodlines, maybe to punish curiosity. I don't know. But the list never lies."
Her hands trembled as she gripped the parchment. The bell had already tolled seven times. The first had fallen. She was marked.
And Briarwall wasn't finished with her yet.