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The Gilded Shore

The tide had pulled back further than Mara had ever seen, baring a coastline she did not recognize. Where the harbor wall should have stood there was only a long ribbon of wet gold, glittering under a sky the color of cooled iron.

She walked out across it, boots sinking, the air sharp with salt and something older underneath. Each step uncovered another small ruin: a door handle, half a window frame, the spine of a book swollen shut by the sea.

By the time she reached the edge of the receding water, the town behind her had gone quiet, as if it too were holding its breath to see what the shore would give back