The fog clung heavier that night, thick enough to bead on Adrian's lashes. The air had that damp, muffled weight, as if the whole world was holding its breath.
Greaves hadn't spoken since they'd left the dock. His hands still shook. The woman — she'd finally given a name, Marla — led them along a narrow, unlit path that wound between the last of the crumbling seaside buildings.
"You said it knows my name," Adrian said. "What does that mean?"
Marla didn't slow. "They remember. Once they've touched your mind, you're marked. The song will come again — stronger."
Greaves made a small, strangled sound in his throat. "Stronger than that?"
Marla glanced at him sharply. "You're alive, aren't you? Then yes. Stronger."
They reached a boarded-up shopfront, its windows long smashed. Inside, the air smelled faintly of mold and old paper. Marla set down her lantern and started checking the corners. "We'll rest here. At least the walls keep the sound out."
But they didn't.
Somewhere, faintly, the melody was there again — just a thread of sound, weaving through the silence. Adrian tried to ignore it, focusing on the hiss of the lantern and the shuffle of Greaves' boots, but the tune kept tugging at the edge of his thoughts.
He turned toward the broken window.
The fog outside was shifting. Not drifting in the way fog should — this moved with purpose. Slowly, a shape emerged.
It stood at the far end of the street, impossibly tall, draped in something that hung like wet seaweed from its shoulders. Its head was tilted slightly, as if listening.
Adrian's gut turned cold.
"It's on land," he said quietly.
Marla looked up sharply, then followed his gaze.
The thing took a step forward. Even from a distance, its legs moved wrong — too long, bending where no joint should be. And though its mouth didn't open, the song grew louder, winding through the boards, through the air, through him.
Greaves whimpered, clutching his ears. "Make it stop— please—"
The lantern flickered, and in that momentary dimming, the creature was closer. The fog seemed to cling tighter around it, making it half-visible, half-imagined.
Adrian backed away from the window. "How do we kill it?"
"You don't," Marla said. Her voice was flat, steady. "You survive it… if you can."
The thing took another step.
The boards at the front of the shop groaned under a weight that hadn't touched them yet.
And then — the song shifted, and Adrian heard it again.
"Adrian," it called, soft and patient. "Come with me."
The last board in the window frame splintered.
The thing had come for him.