Shadows of Guilt

The air was thick with the scent of brine and something older, something that clung to the back of Barnaby’s throat like ash. He stood at the bow of the *Sea Serpent*, his fingers white-knuckled on the slick, blackened wood of the railing. The spectral crew moved around him, their forms flickering like candle flames in a draft, their voices a constant, low murmur that never quite formed words. They were bound to their tasks—coiling ropes that shimmered with a faint, green light, staring into the churning, grey sea with eyes that held no life.

But Barnaby’s gaze was fixed on the space before him, on the ghost that had not left his side for three days.

Elara.