The first fracture did not announce itself with violence.
It appeared as silence.
Ethan sensed it before dawn, a thin, almost imperceptible wrongness in the air—like a note held too long past harmony. The compass lay still beside his bed, but its stillness was not calm. It was watchful, poised, waiting for confirmation rather than direction.
When he stepped outside, the town felt unchanged and yet subtly rearranged. The lighthouse beam moved as it always had, but its edges seemed sharper, more defined, as if it were cutting through the dark rather than brushing it aside. Even the wind behaved differently, gusting in short, decisive bursts instead of lingering sweeps.
Something had separated.
Not broken apart—but pulled slightly out of alignment.
By midmorning, the signs surfaced.
A
