The morning after the storm dawned crisp and clear, the air carrying the faint tang of salt and seaweed. Elias stepped out of his cottage and took a moment to breathe it in, the coolness sharp against his skin. The sky stretched wide and cloudless above him, a pale blue canvas that hinted at the promise of a calm day.
The storm had passed, leaving Clearwater quiet again. The streets were damp, puddles collecting in the uneven cobblestones, but the harbor was already bustling. Fishermen were hauling in their nets, repairing sails, and shouting greetings to one another. It was the kind of noise Elias had grown to appreciate—a rhythm of life that expected nothing from him.
He made his way to the boatyard, his steps unhurried. The docks gleamed under the morning sun, water dripping from their edges like melted glass. Elias liked this time of day, the hours when the world seemed to hold its breath before the chaos of life fully resumed.
When he reached the workshop, he paused. Someone unfamiliar was standing by one of the skiffs, her back to him. She was tall and lean, her dark hair pulled into a loose braid that hung over her shoulder. She moved with purpose, her fingers tracing the curve of the boat's hull, as though she were examining its construction.
Elias hesitated, unsure whether to approach. He wasn't used to strangers in Clearwater, especially not here at the boatyard. After a moment, he cleared his throat.
"Can I help you?" he called, his voice breaking the quiet.
The woman turned to face him, and for a moment, Elias felt as though the world had shifted slightly off its axis. Her eyes were a piercing green, bright and sharp against the softness of her features. She met his gaze without hesitation, her expression calm but curious.
"I'm looking for Isaac," she said, her voice low and steady.
"He's inside," Elias replied, gesturing toward the workshop.
"Thanks," she said, but she didn't move immediately. Instead, she glanced back at the skiff. "Did you build this?"
Elias shrugged. "I helped. Why?"
"It's solid work," she said, running her hand along the smooth wood. "Functional. Well-balanced."
"That's the idea," Elias said, his tone neutral.
She smiled faintly, a flicker of amusement crossing her face. "You don't take compliments well, do you?"
Elias didn't respond, shifting his weight uncomfortably. The woman studied him for another moment, then turned and walked toward the workshop. Her movements were confident, deliberate, as though she belonged here despite being a stranger.
Elias watched her go, his thoughts restless. There was something about her, something he couldn't quite name. She didn't look out of place, exactly, but there was an energy to her, a quiet intensity that felt at odds with the stillness of Clearwater.
Inside the workshop, Isaac greeted her with his usual warmth. "Lyra! Good to see you."
"Good to see you too," she replied, her voice carrying just enough for Elias to hear.
He lingered outside, unsure why he felt compelled to stay. He wasn't eavesdropping, not exactly, but he found himself listening to the rhythm of their conversation, catching snippets of her story.
She spoke about a boat—a fishing vessel she'd inherited from her father. It was old, she said, but she wanted to restore it. As she described its condition, Elias caught glimpses of her life: a childhood spent near the water, years of traveling, and a recent return to Clearwater for reasons she didn't fully explain.
When Lyra left the workshop, she didn't look at Elias. She walked past him without a word, her focus already elsewhere.
Isaac stepped out a moment later, wiping his hands on a rag. He grinned at Elias, his expression knowing.
"She's trouble, that one," Isaac said.
Elias frowned. "Why do you say that?"
Isaac chuckled, leaning against the workshop doorframe. "She's got that look—like she's running from something. Or to something."
Elias glanced in the direction Lyra had gone, though she was no longer in sight. "She seems… focused."
"That she is," Isaac said with a nod. "And stubborn as a mule. She's been here before, you know—years back, when she was just a kid, tagging along with her old man. Can't say I expected to see her again, but I guess Clearwater has a way of pulling people back."
Elias didn't respond. He picked up a sandpaper block from the workbench and began smoothing the edge of a boat panel, his hands moving with practiced ease. But his thoughts remained on Lyra—her sharp eyes, her quiet confidence, and the strange sense of familiarity she seemed to carry with her.
"She asked about you, you know," Isaac added after a moment.
Elias paused mid-motion. "What did she say?"
"Nothing much. Just wondered if you were the one who'd built the skiff," Isaac said, his tone casual. "Seemed impressed, though she didn't come right out and say it."
Elias nodded, unsure what to make of that. He wasn't used to people noticing his work, let alone commenting on it. It was just something he did—a way to keep his hands busy and his mind quiet.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of routine. Elias focused on his tasks, sanding, patching, and assembling, but his thoughts kept drifting back to Lyra. There was something about her that unsettled him, though he couldn't say why.
By evening, the workshop was quiet, the day's work finished. Elias stepped outside and made his way to the docks, seeking the solace of the sea. The water was calm, the surface shimmering in the fading light. He leaned against a wooden post, watching as the sky turned shades of orange and pink.
For the first time in months, his mind wasn't filled with thoughts of the past. Instead, he found himself wondering about the future—and the stranger who had entered his quiet world like a ripple on still water.