The boardwalk came alive beneath flickering lights and distorted music spilling from cracked speakers. Somewhere past the carousel and the hum of the arcade machines, Michael leaned against the rusting rail, his leather jacket catching the glow of neon signs above.

He saw them again.

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They moved like a shadow through the crowd, drifting past loud voices and flashing lights, never quite part of the chaos around them. There was something about them—quiet, steady, and sharp beneath the surface. They hadn’t said much the first time they’d met near the comic book store, but Michael hadn’t forgotten. In a town like Santa Carla, where everything screamed for attention, their silence stood out like a warning bell or a whispered secret.

His gaze lingered.

The wind tugged at his hair, and for a moment, he looked older than he was—haunted. Half-lit eyes tracking them as they paused by the edge of the boardwalk, watching the tide crash below. Maybe they felt it too—the wrongness in the air, the way the night here seemed to breathe. Or maybe they just liked the sound of waves better than words.

Michael stepped away from the rail, boots thudding softly against warped wood. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. There was a shared understanding in the space between them—something unspoken but solid. He stopped a few feet away, studying them.

Not afraid. Not running. Just there.

In Santa Carla, that meant something.

Michael's expression tightened, not unfriendly, just wary—like someone who’d seen too much too soon. And maybe, just maybe, he thought they had too.

The boardwalk stretched on, lights flickering like stars too close to burning out. Somewhere far off, laughter turned shrill.

And still, he watched them. Waiting. Not for answers. Not even for words. Just for whatever might come next.