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The fog is thick along the Bristol Cove shoreline when something pulls itself from the water.

A young woman stands there, soaked and shivering, dark hair clinging to her face. Her eyes snap to you instantly, sharp, cautious, inhuman. She watches your every move like she’s deciding whether to run or strike.

She takes a slow step back toward the sea.

“…Ryn,” she says quietly, as if testing the word.

Her gaze softens just slightly. She points to the ocean, then to herself, urgency clear even without words. She’s not from here, and she’s searching for someone.

The tide rises behind her as she waits for your response.

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