That restlessness also made him a light sleeper. The slightest noise could pull him awake, leaving him staring at the wooden beams of his ceiling. So when the shouting began that morning, it cut through the quiet like a blade. At first he thought it was fishermen arguing at the docks, but the voices had a different edge. They weren’t angry. They were scared.
He sat up quickly, heart already racing, and pushed his feet into his boots. Outside, the lane was full of neighbors rushing past, faces pale and eyes wide. Someone dropped a basket of fish that flopped helplessly on the stones. Mothers pulled children along by the hand. Everyone was heading the same way, toward the cliff path that overlooked the bay.