“Alright. Go—but don’t take your time!”
“You got it, boss,” Hayden called, already rowing into the darkening waves.
Collin watched the little boat vanish into the stormy vastness, his pulse hammering against his ribs. The skiff looked painfully small, absurdly fragile beneath the towering sky. He yanked up his coat sleeve and noted the time.
Then he turned and ran.
On the neighboring dock, Mark was struggling with a tangled mooring line. Collin vaulted off the edge, boots sinking into knee-deep surf before he pulled himself onto the next berth, soaked to the thighs and breathing hard. Another gust slammed the tethered boat into the dock with a jolt that rattled the boards beneath them.
“Untie the boat,” Collin shouted as he knelt beside Mark. “We’ve got to haul them in or they’ll be matchwood by morning.”
They worked fast, freeing the soaked rope, lifting the skiff between them while the wind howled in protest. Onshore, two more crewmen rushed in to help, and Collin directed them toward the barn. His voice had grown sharp with urgency.
Back out on the next dock, his fingers now stiff with cold, he fought a stubborn knot as the platform trembled beneath his knees. The storm pressed in with renewed force.
Then—a shout behind him.
“I brought you a knife!” Logan skidded to a stop at the edge of the dock, breathless.
“Perfect timing!” Collin fumbled for the blade and sliced through the rope. Together, they hoisted the boat from the water, tipping it onto its side.
Wind shoved at them like a living thing as they stumbled toward shore, both clinging to the skiff and the narrow path beneath their boots. Twice, the gusts nearly tore the boat from their grip. Once, Collin thought they might be thrown into the sea altogether.
But they kept going—step by step, soaked, sore, and burning with the knowledge that the storm still wasn’t done.
One by one, the boats were wrested from the storm and carried into the shelter of the barn. Wind howled through the skeletal docks. Rain lashed sideways, slamming into every exposed surface like nails from the sky.
“Are Hayden and Jonah back yet?” Collin shouted as the last skiff was hauled clear of the water.
Logan shook his head, his voice barely audible over the roar. “Haven’t seen them.”
The storm had thickened into an opaque curtain. Visibility stretched no farther than a few yards. Collin sprinted to the end of the dock, lamp in hand, and peered desperately out to sea. The sky and water had become one bruised expanse. If Hayden’s lantern still burned, even the faintest flicker would cut through this gloom. But there was nothing—just rain, relentless and cold.
He raised his own lamp high, watching the light blur and dim as rain hammered against the glass. Fear twisted in his gut, climbing quickly into panic. He should’ve stopped them. That last net wasn’t worth this. No quarter catch justified risking lives. He’d heard the hesitation—but ignored it.
A gust shoved hard against his back, nearly pitching him forward into the surf. The dock groaned beneath his boots. Still, he didn’t move. He couldn’t—not when they were still out there.
Heavy footfalls approached. Logan.
“Send the others home,” Collin said without turning. His voice cracked beneath the weight of fear. “I’ll wait here.”
Logan touched his shoulder. “At least come back to shore.”
Grudgingly, Collin relented. But there was nothing to do now but wait for the storm to break. And waiting hollowed him out. He could feel it—regret gnawing like cold through a wet coat. He had accepted the mantle of leadership without truly grasping its cost. Now it pressed on him like the sky itself. If the worst had happened, he would face the families. He would not flinch from that.
Hours passed.
Collin couldn’t sit idle in the barn. Despite Logan’s protests, he returned to the beach, pacing the shoreline. Searching. Hoping. Anything to avoid that unbearable stillness.
“I see something!” Collin’s shout barely carried through the gale. A dark shape rolled in the surf—a shape too large to be a man. He broke into a run, fighting the wind like it was a living wall. His coat flapped violently, the lamp barely staying in his grip.
As he splashed into the frigid water, dread gathered in his lungs and washed through his veins. Even before he reached it, he knew. It was the skiff.
Logan was shouting behind him, but the sea swallowed every word.
A towering wave surged in. Collin grabbed hold of the wreckage just as the surf crashed against him, lifting him from the sand. His feet left the earth. The lamp flew from his hand. Gone. In the blackness, all that remained was the weight of the water and the certainty of being mortal.
For a heartbeat, nothing else existed.
