My fingers loosen.
And I let the phone fall.
It disappears into the sea without a sound.
Gone.
An hour later, a new coastline rises out of the mist. Buildings, harbor lights, forested hills behind them like something ancient and patient watching over everything.
For the first time in years, I let myself consider something I haven’t dared to name: That survival and happiness might not be opposites. That they might be the same road.
I tilt my face into the wind and close my eyes.
Are you safe?
Yes.
7
CJ
The rain rolled in after lunch.
Not a storm. Not even enough to justify an umbrella. Just that constant, mist-heavy drizzle Campbell River does so well, like the sky can’t be bothered to fully commit, but refuses to stop touching everything anyway.
This place breathes fog and salt air, like it needs to remind you who’s in charge.
It’s pushing six-thirty by the time the office empties. One by one, the lights click off as my staff head home, leaving the building to settle into its evening hum.
Eventually, it’s just me.
I lean back in my chair, rubbing my hands over my face, letting the quiet stretch too long. A dull ache settles behind my eyes, the kind that comes from too many hours and too little sleep. My chest feels tight, like the silence is pressing against my ribs.
My eyes drift to the file still sitting on my desk, the one from my conversation with Deck the other day.
We still haven’t passed it off to another security company. We thought about it, but something about it doesn’t sit right. It’s not clean. Not finished, so I’ve kept it.
My jaw tightens. A faint prickle crawls along the back of my neck, the kind of warning my body learned long before I ever listened to it.
Quietly, I’ve already got a couple of my guys digging into it. Another stack of paperwork waits beside it, but I can’t bring myself to open it.
Not tonight.
* * *
Outside, the bay is swallowed in grey. Mist hangs low over the water, blurring horizon and sky into the same dull steel sheet. Fishing boat lights cut through it slowly, ghosting their way home.
Most days, this view settles something in me. But it doesn’t tonight; tonight, I’m just plain old tired.
The water feels distant, unreachable. My shoulders stay tense, refusing to drop no matter how long I stare at the horizon.
My phone dings.
Deck.
Don’t forget. Thursday. Dating app profile review.
I groan out loud. “Fuck’s sake,” I say to no one.
