The marina repair yard was loud even in the rain. Metal rang against metal. Generators hummed. Welding sparks flared blue-white near the water. Boats sat propped on blocks, their hulls scraped and half-painted, ropes coiled in dark piles between them. Leo moved through the maze of pallets and equipment more slowly now. Sean followed a few steps behind, his pulse still high from the truck, no longer thinking about writing a report or calling ahead. He was thinking only about keeping the child safe until this ended—whatever “this” turned out to be.
Leo stopped beside an old fiberglass skiff and stared across the yard. Sean followed his gaze and saw a man in a rain-dark work jacket bent over a boat trailer with a welding mask down. On a nearby workbench sat a thermos, a lunch tin, and a pair of gloves. Nothing unusual. Just a laborer finishing his shift. But when the man straightened and lifted the mask to wipe rain from his face, Sean saw it: a small pale scar near the eyebrow. Leo froze. Even from behind, Sean could feel the change in him—that sudden fragile stillness of someone who had spent all day chasing a hope and had finally caught up to it.