The storm boomed outside, shaking the walls with each crash of thunder. He pressed against the bridge door and shoved hard. It gave way with a groan, swinging inward to reveal the dim, cluttered control room.
The smell hit him first, damp metal, oil, and something else, faint but unmistakable: the sharp tang of sweat. His eyes swept the room. Old charts lay scattered across the consoles. A chair was pushed back, still rocking slightly as if it had been moved a moment ago. And then he saw it. In the far corner, half in shadow, a figure stood.