He sat back on his heels, his breath hitching as the adrenaline finally began to ebb. He quickly shoved the loose ore back into the canvas torso and tied the sleeves shut, turning the suit back into a heavy, unremarkable bundle. He hauled it toward the stern and threw a salt-stained tarp over it, concealing the brass helmet and the bulk of the canvas from view.
As the Silver Wake chugged toward the harbor, the sky turned a bruised purple. He kept his eyes on the narrow entrance, his pulse quickening as he saw the lights of the pier. He just needed to get to his slip, get the suit into his truck, and get it back to the privacy of his shed. As he throttled down to enter the wake-free zone, a familiar figure appeared on the dock. Bill, the harbor master, was standing by the main pylon with a clipboard, his weathered face illuminated by the amber glow of a streetlamp.
He watched Arthur approach with a curious squint that made Arthur’s stomach do a slow, cold roll.