Ward
"The ocean doesn't announce a coming storm. It simply changes...until the wise sailor notices."
— James Sinclair
I couldn't shake the feeling.
The sun was setting over Eagle Bay, painting the water in streaks of gold and crimson, but something about the marina felt...off.
Storm stepped out of the boathouse beside me, Grandpa's compass still clasped tightly in her hand.
"You've been staring at the water for five minutes."
"I know."
"What do you see?"
I didn't answer right away.
"I don't know yet."
That was the problem.
My instincts were screaming.
My eyes just hadn't caught up.
Behind us, laughter drifted from the boathouse.
Frank had somehow convinced Thomas to have another shot of whiskey.
Rose was teasing both of them.
Willow had started making sandwiches because, according to her, "Nobody solves eighty-year-old mysteries on an empty stomach."
For the first time all day...
The Sinclair family sounded like a family again.
Storm smiled toward the voices.
"I’m glad Thomas is comfortable with everyone. It’s good to hear him laugh. He was getting a little folklore for a while, but he still won’t tell us the man's name."
"I don't think anyone was comfortable while he was explaining."
"Maybe we're finally winning."
I wanted to believe her.
Instead...
I looked back toward the harbor.
Movement.
Tiny.
Almost impossible to notice.
A white center-console fishing boat eased between two larger yachts nearly three hundred yards away.
Nothing unusual.
Except...
Nobody aboard was fishing.
The engine never shut off.
The boat never tied up.
It simply drifted.
Watching.
I narrowed my eyes.
Three men.
Baseball caps.
Sunglasses.
Long sleeves despite the summer heat.
One of them slowly lifted binoculars.
Not toward the marina.
Toward Thomas's boathouse.
Every muscle in my body tightened.
"Storm."
She heard it in my voice immediately.
"What?"
"Don't turn around."
Her smile disappeared.
"What is it?"
"I think we have company."
"Who is it?"
"I don't know."
"Are they armed?"
"I can't tell."
The boat continued drifting.
Almost lazily.
As if they belonged there.
But professionals always looked relaxed.
It was the amateurs who looked nervous.
I reached for the small radio clipped beneath my shirt.
My voice remained calm.
"Ben."
The response came instantly.
"Go."
"Walk outside."
A pause.
Then—
"Now?"
"Now."
Thirty seconds later Ben stepped onto the opposite dock carrying a bottle of water.
He looked like a man stretching his legs.
Nothing more.
His eyes casually swept the marina.
Then froze.
"I've got them."
"You see it?"
"Three males."
He took another drink.
"Watching us."
Nathan quietly exited the boathouse from another door.
He never looked toward the fishing boat.
Instead, he knelt beside an old tackle box and pretended to repair a reel.
"I count three," he murmured over the radio.
"Possibly four below the console."
Storm looked at me.
"They're here because of Thomas."
"I think they're here because someone finally realized James left more than journals."
Inside the boathouse, Ivy's phone chimed.
She frowned.
"That's strange."
Calle looked over.
"What?"
"The security camera."
"What about it?"
"It just went offline."
Every conversation stopped.
Ben's voice cracked over the radio.
"Ward..."
"I didn't know there were cameras."
"There weren't."
Silence.
Then Ivy slowly looked toward the ceiling.
"I installed them yesterday."
My blood ran cold.
"If they're offline..."
Nathan finished the sentence.
"Someone cut the feed."
The drifting boat suddenly accelerated.
Not toward open water.
Toward the marina.
Toward Sea Whisper.
Toward the Sinclair family.
I stepped in front of Storm without thinking.
"Everyone inside. Now."
Thomas stood so quickly his chair crashed onto the wooden floor.
His weathered face had gone pale.
He stared at the approaching boat.
Then, with fear I hadn't seen even when he'd looked at the photograph, he whispered only three words.
"They found us."
They knew we were in the area. The Sea Whisper is too large to hide it.
Outside...
The engine roared louder.
And somewhere beneath that growing sound...
I heard another engine start.
Not on the water.
Behind the boathouse.