The wind shifted.
It was a subtle thing at first, a whisper curling around the ship’s frayed edges. The sails barely stirred. The water lapped against the hull, steady, unbothered.
She might not have noticed it at all if not for the compass.
It shook. A small, unnatural jerk.
She frowned and angled it closer. The needle trembled, hesitated—then lurched sideways.
Her breath caught.
The compass had never done that before.
She flicked the glass with her nail, as if that would fix it. The needle quivered, spun in a slow, lazy circle, then stilled—pointing nowhere.
Wrong.
It was wrong.
Her fingers tightened around it.
The ship swayed beneath her, the motion sluggish, heavier than before. The wind curled tighter around her, whispering against her ears.
She tried to force herself to breathe evenly, but something was shifting in the air, something thick and pressing, like the whole world had tilted slightly off axis.
She needed to move.
Her legs shook when she stood. How long had she been sitting there? A few minutes? Hours? She had no way to tell.
The cabin.
Yes. She could check the cabin. Maybe there was something inside, some kind of map, a way to make sense of this.
The stairs creaked under her weight as she descended. The hallway was narrow, the air inside stuffy and thick. Shadows stretched long over the wooden walls, the dim lanterns doing little to fight them back.
She pressed a hand against the door to the captain’s quarters, hesitating for just a moment before pushing inside.
The room was smaller than she remembered.
The desk had been overturned, papers scattered across the floor, curling at the edges as if they had been there for weeks. A bottle of ink had shattered against the wall, dark stains dripping like blood.
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Had she done this?
No. No, she didn’t think so. But—
A flicker of movement in the corner.
She turned sharply, heart lurching.
The bed.
The figure in it barely stirred.
She swallowed.
They had been there the whole time. She had almost forgotten.
A thin arm lay over the sheets, too still, too pale. The rise and fall of their chest was shallow, barely noticeable.
She took a step closer, but hesitated.
They wouldn’t answer if she called out.
She knew that.
She clenched her jaw and looked away.
The compass. She needed to fix the compass. She needed to—
The ship rocked violently.
The papers lifted off the floor, swirling in the air like frantic wings. The lantern swung overhead, the light flickering wildly.
She stumbled, barely catching herself against the desk.
The wind had changed again.
Something roared in the distance.
A wave.
And it was coming fast.
The roar swallowed everything.
For a moment, the world outside the cabin ceased to exist—just the sound, deafening and all-consuming, like something massive breathing right against the ship’s ear.
She braced herself as the floor pitched violently. The lantern overhead swung so hard it nearly snapped from its chain, and a cold gust howled through the cracks in the wood, rattling the walls.
The compass tumbled from her grip.
She lunged for it.
Fingertips scraped metal as it skidded across the warped floorboards. She grabbed it, but her stomach lurched as another wave slammed into the hull. The ship groaned in protest. Something above deck splintered.
No, no, no—
She forced herself upright, gasping. Her hands trembled as she turned the compass over, cradling it against her palm.
The needle spun wildly.
Around and around and around.
It wouldn’t stop.
She shook it. Tilted it. Pressed her thumb against the glass, hoping, praying, willing it to settle.
Nothing.
Her breath hitched.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
The compass was the only thing that had ever given her direction. The only thing she had followed, through the empty stretches of sea, through the nights where the stars disappeared behind thick, suffocating clouds.
And now—
A sharp knock rang inside her skull. The pressure returned, squeezing the edges of her mind. Flashes of something just outside her reach.
A voice raised.
A door slamming shut.
The shaking of hands.
The clatter of pills scattering over a tile floor.
Gone.
The ship jolted violently, snapping her back. She gasped, stumbling forward, gripping the doorframe for balance.
Outside, the waves had risen to monstrous heights. Walls of black water towered over the deck, crashing down in endless, foaming rage. The storm had swallowed the horizon whole.
The compass spun faster.
The figure in the bed didn’t move.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
It’s not real.
But it was.
She could feel the salt on her skin. She could hear the creak of the ship’s bones, the distant echo of something breaking, something being ripped apart at the seams.
The compass shuddered in her grip.
It wasn’t supposed to fail her.
She pressed it against her chest, nails digging into the rusted edges, breath coming fast and shallow.
“Please,” she whispered.
A crack of thunder split the sky.
The ship began to sink.
