Elias blinked. In one of the windows of the bridge, a faint glow pulsed, like a lantern or a failing bulb. He raised his binoculars again, struggling to steady them with wet hands. The glass fogged, but when he cleared it with his sleeve, the glow was still there.
He thought he saw movement behind the window, the shadow of someone passing across it. “Hello?” he called, his voice cracking in the storm. It was a foolish thing to do—his shout barely carried over the rain, but the sound of his own voice steadied him. No answer came. Only the moan of wind through broken railings and the dull slap of waves against the hull.