The crowd didn't disperse all at once.
It unraveled.
Slowly.
Like no one wanted to be the first to walk away.
People lingered in small clusters, voices low, glancing back at the hunters like they might move if left alone too long.
Eventually, they did move.
Mara with bloodshot eyes indicative of the amount of tears shed returned with her son to their home.
Joren, Eirikr's brother looked like he saw a ghost, his skin pale and damp with sweat. Looking at him could bring a tear to anyone's eye.
One by one, they drifted back to their homes.
Like routine could fix what had happened.
We stayed longer than most.
Watching.
For something none of us could name.
It didn't come.
Not then.
"They'll deal with it in the morning," Torvin said eventually.
No one asked what "deal with it" meant.
We all knew.
"It's contained," Malek said.
I didn't answer.
He glanced at me.
"You're still thinking about it."
"You're not?" I said.
"They're tied," he replied. "Watched. Whatever it is—it's not spreading."
The words hung there.
Not spreading.
I thought about the boy.
The deer.
The net.
I didn't say any of it, partially because I was afraid. If I brought my thoughts to light it might come true, like these tragedies would ramp up and turn us all into whatever was left of those hunters.
Cold, listless, hollow.
In hindsight, I definitely should have.
Instead, I turned.
"Where are you going?" Torvin asked behind me.
"Dock," I said.
That was enough for him to understand.
He didn't try to stop me.
No one did.
The path down to the water felt longer than it ever had.
The village noise faded with every step, replaced by the steady rhythm of the sea pulling against the shore.
Usually, it helped.
Grounded things.
It didn't now.
The docks came into view slowly—
wood stretching out over dark water, boats shifting gently with the current.
Empty.
Too empty.
"Sten?" I called out.
Sten was always at the dock, he lived in a dock house not far from where we would fish together.
The word carried across the water.
Then disappeared.
No answer.
I stepped onto the dock.
The wood creaked beneath me, familiar and steady—but it didn't feel that way now.
Something was off.
I moved further out, scanning the boats, the nets, the usual places he would've been.
Nothing.
Then I saw it.
One of the nets had been left half-drawn over the side of a boat, its rope trailing into the water.
That wasn't like him.
Sten didn't leave work unfinished.
Ever.
I pulled the rope up slowly.
It was heavier than it should have been.
Not full.
Just… wrong.
The net broke the surface with a wet drag.
Empty.
Mostly.
Dark stains clung to it.
Thicker than before.
The same ink.
But this time—
it hadn't been cut away.
It had spread further along the rope.
I let it drop back into the water.
It sank without a sound.
It vanished quickly.
I stood there for a moment, listening.
The water moved the same as it always had.
Calm.
Steady.
Like it didn't care what it had taken.
"Sten…" I said again.
Nothing answered.
Malek sat near one of the remaining fires, elbows resting on his knees, staring into the embers like they might give him an answer.
Torvin leaned against a post nearby, arms crossed, shifting his weight every few seconds like he couldn't quite get comfortable.
Freya stood a few paces away.
Watching everything. Calculating.
"What do you think happened to those hunters back there?" Torvin asked, breaking the silence.
Malek didn't look up from the fire.
"They went into the woods," he said.
Torvin blinked. "Insightful."
Malek shrugged. "I try to keep things simple."
Torvin let out a quiet breath, shaking his head. "They didn't come back simple."
"No," Malek said.
"They didn't."
The fire cracked between them.
Freya shifted slightly, arms folded. "Something happened out there."
"Something always happens out there," Malek replied.
"Not like that."
He finally looked up at her, studying her for a second.
"You're still thinking about it," he said.
"Someone should be."
Malek smirked faintly. "I am."
Torvin snorted. "Could've fooled me."
"I'm just not doing it out loud like you two," Malek said.
"Ah, yes," Torvin said. "The strong, silent thinker."
"Exactly."
"You've never been silent a day in your life."
Malek leaned back slightly, resting on his hands. "That's because no one else says anything worth listening to."
Torvin let out a short laugh. "There he is."
Even Freya's expression shifted—just slightly. Not quite a smile.
But close.
"They're tied," Malek continued after a moment. "and watched for that matter. Whatever it is, it's contained."
The words sat there.
Freya's expression tightened again. "You don't know that."
"I know they're not exactly sprinting around the village," Malek said.
"That's not reassuring."
"It should be," he said. "If they were faster, we'd have a real problem."
Torvin shook his head. "You're unbelievable."
"And yet," Malek said, glancing at him, "you keep following me around."
"Someone has to make sure you don't get yourself killed."
"You'd miss me."
"I'd miss arguing with you."
"Same thing."
Freya stepped closer to the fire, her voice quieter now.
"This isn't funny."
Malek's expression softened slightly.
"I know," he said.
That was how he operated.
He did know.
He just refused to sit in it.
Torvin glanced around. "Where'd Erik go?"
Malek shrugged. "Thinking."
Torvin groaned. "Of course he is."
"Let him," Malek said. "Someone has to do it."
"You ever try it?"
Malek grinned. "Once."
"And?"
"Didn't like it."
The fire cracked softly.
For a moment, it almost felt normal again.
Almost.
Then it changed.
Not the fire.
Not the wind.
Something else.
A sound carried through the village.
Faint.
Uneven.
Torvin straightened slightly.
"You hear that?"
Malek tilted his head.
"Yeah."
Freya didn't say anything.
She was already looking toward it.
Malek stood.
"Stay here," he said.
"No," Freya replied immediately.
He looked at her for a second—
then nodded.
"Fine. Stay close."
Torvin grabbed a torch, lighting it off the fire.
"If this is nothing," he muttered, "I'm blaming you."
Malek smirked. "You blame me for everything."
"Because it's usually your fault."
"Fair."
The three of them moved toward the sound together.
The village stretched ahead—
darker now.
quieter.
But not still.