Greyson sighed as he rubbed his hand through his hair. He sat on the small patio of the boarding house he was staying in. A group chat with his parents lit up on his phone checking in on him to see if got to his boarding house safely. His motorcycle parked in the gravel lot at the side of the quaint, and really peaceful building. It had a few communal spaces including the kitchen and dining room and the patio. It was attached to a small flower shop and plant nursery.

He can hear the waves crashing along the cliffs behind the house. The table he’s sat at is covered in newspaper clippings, and a few missing persons’ reports and such. The fog was rolling in.