Erik rolled his eyes but felt a twinge of unease. Not because he believed her, but because of how carefully she’d said it, like the sea itself might be listening. Pride wouldn’t let him leave it there. And besides, if everyone else was too afraid to fish at dusk, then he’d have the waters to himself. Fewer boats meant less competition, maybe fuller nets.
His father had died in a storm years ago, and Erik had grown up knowing that the sea didn’t need legends to kill you. But he also knew how to handle himself: how to keep a boat steady in chop, how to read a dark patch of water before it broke into a wave. He trusted skill, not stories.