Albin’s father arrived on the noon tide. He hugged his son so hard the boy squeaked. Then he looked at Eira.
Eira went to the church. The bell had been silent since the last keeper before Soren—a woman named Helena—had rung it during the nameless tide of 1947. She had rung it to call the villagers to safety. The tide had answered instead. The bell had not moved since, and no one had been able to climb the tower without feeling the stone grow cold and wrong under their hands.
Eira did not climb. She simply stood in the doorway, placed her palm on the worn oak, and whispered: Helena. Keep your silence one more night.
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