Elliot stands on the deck, the icy wind whipping at his hair and lashing his shirt against his neck. His ears are pricked, waiting for the slightest sound, the faintest hint of something out of the ordinary, but all he hears is the slap-slap of waves against the hull. He stares out to sea, watching the shiny water ripple, willing himself not to feel the biting cold.

And then he sees something. A fleeting, shiny something – one minute it’s there in the water, the next it’s gone.

Did he imagine it? Elliot takes a step forward and leans out over the water, his eyes searching the murky depths below. But there’s nothing there. He shuffles back to his position, shaking his head and rubbing his hands together. It’s the cold. It’s making me lose my mind, he thinks.

*

She slips aboard while his back is turned. Like a streak of lightning, across the deck and into the shadows – her feet don’t make a single sound. She watches him watching the water, she hears him breathing and muttering. She waits.