It was a cloudy summer day. The air was cold, the sky was overcast, and all Shay wanted to do was retreat into her sweater until her head could never break the surface of cloth again.

  Rain seemed intent on seeping through her skin, eating its way to her very marrow. Her hands gripped the slick railings of the boat, fingers brushing against grooves and bumps in the pristine metal. The sea seemed restless. The waves desperately clung to the edges of the boat, water trying to drag the flickering lights and tarnished steel to the bottom of its inky depths.

  There she was. Shay. Every thought seemed to flutter away with the wind. Why worry about what's coming next when you can listen to the thunder so very far away? It's welcoming you.

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  In and out. It's not like it's a one way trip. You'll be home before you know it. Just remember where you left your wallet, 'k?

  Hah. Of course her biggest concern was forgetting where her wallet was. Around ten miles from the corpse of the Ever-Burning Lighthouse, and all she could think about was if she left her driver's license all the way back at home. To be honest, this was exactly what she expected from herself. (You're going alone. With nothing but a flashlight, some money, and a bag of trail mix. I think it's pretty safe to say you're fucked.)

  It was a cloudy summer day. The sky was cold, the air was sick with anticipation, and Sherri Lovelace wondered if she'd be found on the beach with a twitching mouth and bloated body. Why was that so easy to picture?

  It felt like she'd predicted this five years ago. The daydreams. The thalassophobia. The nightmares. They all felt so... familiar.

  And the worst part is?

  She was right.