The absence of light was absolute.No lantern. No moon. Not even the faint, ghostly glow the fog sometimes gave off.
Adrian's hand shot out into the void, half expecting to find the woman's arm. Instead, his fingers sliced through cold, wet air. Somewhere ahead, the pier groaned under shifting weight.
Then—splash.
Something heavy hit the water. His boots clattered against the slick planks as he stumbled toward the sound. His mind screamed Greaves fell in, but his gut told him otherwise.
Kneeling, he peered over the side. The water was black as oil, only the faint lap of waves against the dock betraying its presence. He couldn't see his reflection.
Then, something touched him.
It started as a graze — a wet, icy brush against his wrist — before it clamped down. Fingers. Thin but impossibly strong, curling around him with bone-crushing force.
He yanked back on instinct, but the grip only tightened. His breath came fast, clouding in the chill. Somewhere deep below the surface, bubbles rose — slow, deliberate — as if whatever held him was breathing.
"Let… go," he hissed through clenched teeth, trying to twist free.
From the depths, a pale face emerged.Not her. Not human.
Its skin was translucent, waterlogged. The mouth hung slack, leaking seawater with each slow exhale. Hair floated around it in an undulating halo, strands wrapping around his arm like weeds. The eyes were milky, lifeless — yet fixed on him with dreadful purpose.
The thing pulled.
Adrian's chest slammed into the edge of the dock, the old wood biting into his ribs. Water surged up, soaking his coat. He clawed at the boards with his free hand, but they were slick, offering no grip.
"Donovan!" Greaves' voice cut through the darkness — close, but not close enough.
Adrian's head dipped toward the water. Cold mist sprayed his face as the creature's pull became relentless. In the darkness below, more shapes moved — dozens, maybe more — circling like sharks.
With a final, desperate twist, he drew the revolver from his belt. He didn't think, didn't aim — just fired into the black water.
The crack of the shot ripped through the night.
The grip vanished.
He collapsed onto the planks, gasping, the smell of gunpowder mixing with the rot of the harbor. Greaves appeared out of the fog, rifle in hand, eyes wide at the sight of the wet claw marks raked across Adrian's arm.
"What the hell did you see?" Greaves demanded.
Adrian stared at the water, still rippling. "Something," he said hoarsely. "And I don't think it was alone."
Somewhere in the distance, beneath the waves, the faintest hum began — low, rhythmic, and terrifyingly human.