The humming from the water didn't stop.It grew.
At first, Adrian thought it was just an echo in his head — the way a sound can cling to you after you've heard it. But when Greaves' hand faltered on his rifle, when the man's expression slackened into something soft and faraway, Adrian knew it wasn't just him.
The hum had turned into a melody. Slow. Sweet. Almost mournful.
It wound its way through the fog, curling around their ears like smoke. The longer it went on, the more it felt like it was being sung directly to them — a call wrapped in warmth and familiarity.
"Don't listen to it," Adrian said sharply, stepping between Greaves and the edge of the dock.
Greaves blinked, as if waking from a dream, then shook his head violently. "I—I thought I heard…"
"I know," Adrian muttered. "That's how it gets you."
From somewhere in the fog, a faint splash echoed. Then another. The sound was moving along the pier, keeping pace with them. Adrian tightened his grip on his revolver, every instinct screaming to get back to solid ground.
But the song…
The song was changing.
It wasn't just notes now. It was words — though in no language Adrian recognized. Still, they slid under his skin, warm and insistent, promising relief from the cold, from the fear, from the emptiness that sometimes lived in his chest when he was alone.
He found himself taking one step toward the water. Just one. The boards creaked beneath him.
"Donovan!" Greaves' shout was sharp enough to snap him back.
Adrian stumbled, swore under his breath, and tore his gaze from the black water. His mouth was dry. "It's in your head," he said, more to himself than to Greaves. "That's where it lives."
Somewhere beyond the pier, a shadow moved through the fog — long, lean, and bending in ways a human body shouldn't. The melody seemed to follow its every shift, as though it was the one singing.
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the song stopped.
The silence was worse.
No lapping waves. No creaking boards. Not even the whisper of the fog moving. Just a stillness that felt like the world holding its breath.
Adrian didn't realize he was gripping Greaves' shoulder until he felt the man's pulse hammering under his palm.
"Back to shore," Adrian said. "Now."
But before they could move, a voice spoke from the mist.
"You heard it, didn't you?"
It was the woman from the tavern. The one with the strange warning. She stepped into view, eyes wide, skin slick with sea spray. "If you keep listening," she said, her voice trembling, "you won't be able to stop yourself. And once you're in the water…"
She didn't finish the sentence.
Because they all heard it again — the song starting up, softer this time, but closer.
Too close.