The ship emerged from the morning mist like a nightmare, a mountain of rusted steel drifting silently toward Portmere. Shouts rose as villagers rushed to the cliffs, faces pale as the freighter loomed larger with every swell. Mothers clutched children, fishermen cursed, and for a breathless moment it seemed certain the ship would grind into the harbor.
Its bow cut the waves with slow, heavy force, tilting as though it might lean into the village at any moment. Warnings rang out but were swallowed by the sea’s roar. Elias stood among them, heart hammering, staring at the giant that seemed too close, too unstoppable to ignore.
Then, movement. He raised his binoculars and froze. Amid the leaning containers, a figure stood, arms raised high, waving. A plea, a signal, something alive on a ship that should have been empty. Elias blinked, and the deck was bare again. Yet the memory of that desperate wave clung to him as the vessel drifted closer to shore.