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Weekly Contest #324
The water didn't move like it had before. It wasn't a surface anymore, not a line between worlds. It breathed. The whole tide inhaled, slow and deep, and he felt it in his chest — the pull of it, syncing with his heartbeat until he couldn't tell which rhythm belonged to him. The shapes under the surface drifted closer. Not fast, not circling. Just present. Shadows with intention. Patient in a way that predated the ocean. Miles crouched, camera pressed against his sternum, lens fogged from the mist. He should have been terrified. He should ...
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