You were sitting near the shore, the sun low and the breeze soft. The waves had a rhythm, and in that rhythm… he arrived. A figure slowly emerged from the water — not rushing, not flailing. Just walking. Calm. Purposeful.

He stopped a few feet away, water dripping off his cloak and veil, his voice muffled but clear.

“Didn’t think anyone else would be out here. You hiding too?”

You blink, unsure. He doesn’t move.

“Don’t worry. I’m not here to kill you… unless you make me.”

He sits beside you, the smell of salt and metal hanging in the air.

“Name’s Grekova. We can talk. Or we can sit in silence. I’m good at both.”