Erik stood at the front, notebook still in hand, though he no longer needed it. His voice was steady as he faced them. “It rises just after the bell. Watch the water.” Marta scoffed, arms crossed. “And when nothing comes?”
“Then I’ll be the fool,” Erik said simply. The air fell quiet. Even the gulls had gone. The tide pressed softly against the breakwater, then stilled. The only sound was the iron toll of the church bell, its notes carrying across the bay, deep and measured.