A child crosses what the sea left behind: rooftops, wrecks, a road that is mostly water. The lighthouse still burns at the far end of it. Between here and there, the dark is not empty.
The crossing





It does not hunt by smell. It does not hear you breathe. Out on the flooded road, motion is the only signal: hold still in the dark and you are no one.
Headphones on. The sea is quieter than it should be.