The wind shifted by afternoon.
It came inland, carrying the smell of the harbor into the upper districts of Elaris — salt and something metallic beneath it. Most people hated when the scent reached the estates. It reminded them that the city had been built on trade, on labor, on things dragged out of water by men whose names weren't engraved anywhere.
Kael preferred those days.
They made everything honest.
He was back at the south pier just before dusk, not for work this time. The call had come an hour earlier from a harbor supervisor — something about an old buoy chain wrapped around a submerged beam. It wasn't urgent. It wasn't paid well.
He came anyway.
Because if he stopped coming, he would start thinking.
The silver compass rested cool against his chest as he leaned over the dock railing, scanning the water. The tide was low now, exposing dark rock and slick wood. The harbor was quieter than morning. Most of the fishing boats had returned.
He rolled his right shoulder once.
It felt heavier today.
Not weak.
Just… slower.
He flexed his fingers experimentally.
They obeyed.
For now.
"Careful."
The voice came from behind him.
Not loud. Not timid either.
Just steady.
Kael didn't turn immediately. He had heard enough tones in his life to know when someone expected obedience. This voice did not.
He glanced over his shoulder.
The woman from the balcony.
He recognized her instantly — not because of her beauty, though it was there in a restrained, deliberate way — but because of her stillness. The kind that looked practiced.
She was alone. No staff. No fiancé. No entourage.
She stepped closer to the railing, though she kept a deliberate distance from him.
"The boards near the edge rot," she said. "They've replaced two already this year."
Kael studied her for a moment.
"You always warn strangers at the harbor?"
She met his gaze without flinching. "Only the ones who look like they might lean too far."
He smiled faintly. "That sounds personal."
"It's practical."
A beat of silence passed between them.
Up close, he noticed the faint crease between her brows — not from age, but from habit. From holding thoughts she didn't voice.
"And what are you doing down here?" he asked lightly. "Shouldn't you be picking table linens?"
Her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"You recognize me."
"Hard not to. White banners visible from three docks away."
"That's not an answer."
He shrugged. "I return things the sea takes. I notice things."
She leaned her forearms against the railing, careful not to touch the same section as him.
"The man this morning," she said. "You found his ring."
"You were watching?"
"I have a view."
He nodded once. "Then you know the ending."
"Yes." Her gaze moved to the water. "He looked relieved."
"That's the usual reaction."
"And you?"
He tilted his head. "Me?"
"When you handed it back."
He laughed softly. "I get paid."
"That's not what I meant."
Her voice wasn't accusing. It was observational.
He looked at the water again.
"It's just a ring," he said.
She didn't respond to that.
The tide shifted slightly below them. Wood creaked.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then her eyes dropped to his hand resting against the railing.
It trembled.
Small.
Rhythmic.
Controlled — but visible.
She noticed.
Of course she noticed.
Kael straightened instantly, slipping his hand into his jacket pocket.
"Cold," he said before she could comment.
"It's not cold."
He held her gaze.
For the first time, something sharpened between them.
Not attraction.
Recognition.
"You shouldn't lie when it's unnecessary," she said quietly.
"And you shouldn't be here alone," he replied just as calmly.
They stood in that fragile balance — neither yielding.
Finally, she exhaled.
"My fiancé doesn't like the harbor," she said. "He says it's noisy."
"It is."
"He says it smells."
"It does."
"But it feels real," she finished.
Kael studied her more carefully now.
There it was.
The fracture.
"Real things sink," he said. "That's the problem."
Her fingers tightened around the railing.
"And what floats?" she asked.
He looked out toward the open stretch of water beyond the docks.
"Things that don't matter."
The words landed heavier than he intended.
For a second, her expression shifted — not offended, not wounded — but thoughtful.
"Do you believe that?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Then why bring the ring back?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Because he didn't have one that wouldn't expose something.
The compass shifted slightly against his chest as the wind picked up. The faint vibration of the needle pressed into his skin.
She noticed that too.
"You keep things," she said softly.
"Sometimes."
"That weren't claimed."
He met her eyes again.
"Sometimes."
The silence deepened — not awkward. Just suspended.
A shout echoed from further down the pier. Two dock workers arguing over equipment. One of them slipped briefly near the edge, boots skidding on algae-slick wood.
Mira turned instinctively at the sound.
Kael reacted without thinking.
He moved toward the lower ramp, fast — too fast.
His right foot caught on uneven planking.
For half a second, his body misfired.
The tremor surged.
His balance faltered.
He grabbed the railing to steady himself.
Hard.
Too hard.
The sudden motion startled Mira, who stepped backward instinctively.
Her heel caught the weakened board she had warned him about.
The wood cracked.
The sound was sharp. Final.
Her body tilted sideways toward the exposed edge of the pier.
For a split second, there was no scream.
Only the rush of air.
Kael lunged.
His right hand nearly failed him.
Nearly.
But his left caught her wrist just as her weight tipped outward over open water.
Her other hand clawed at the railing, splinters biting into skin.
The world narrowed to contact.
Her pulse under his fingers.
His tremor fighting against gravity.
"Don't move," he said, voice low and controlled.
She didn't.
But she felt the shaking in his grip.
The dock workers were shouting now.
Footsteps running toward them.
Kael tightened his hold, ignoring the violent protest in his right arm as he used it to anchor against the beam.
"On three," he said quietly. "Push up."
She nodded once.
"One."
The tremor worsened.
"Two."
Her weight shifted.
"Three."
He pulled.
It cost him more than it should have.
She collapsed against the dock, breath sharp, silk sleeve torn at the seam.
His hands didn't let go immediately.
Neither did hers.
For one suspended moment, they were both kneeling on weathered wood, too close, breathing too loud.
He released her first.
"You're not supposed to lean that far," he said lightly.
It wasn't funny.
She looked at him — really looked.
"You're not supposed to shake that much."
The words weren't cruel.
They were direct.
The dock workers arrived, alarmed, asking questions, offering noise.
Mira stood slowly, regaining composure with practiced efficiency.
"I slipped," she said smoothly. "It's nothing."
Her eyes flicked back to Kael.
He understood.
Reputation.
Witnesses.
Narrative control.
He gave a small nod.
"Yes," he said. "Nothing."
But as the workers dispersed and she adjusted the torn fabric at her sleeve, she leaned closer just enough that only he could hear her.
"You almost dropped me."
He met her gaze evenly.
"I didn't."
She held his eyes for a long second.
Then:
"Don't dive tomorrow."
It wasn't a request.
It wasn't concern.
It was instinct.
He smiled faintly.
"Don't plan a wedding you don't want."
Her breath caught — barely visible.
They stood in silence.
The tide had begun to rise again.
And neither of them had noticed when the distance between them disappeared.