The harbor was quiet at this hour. Lanterns guttered against the sea-wind and the sound of the tide rolled like distant applause, and somewhere beyond the breakwater a bell tolled twice. Claire counted them the way a child counts heartbeats — in the dark, in private, as if the sound itself could be hoarded.

She had not slept. She would not sleep. Sleep was for people who believed the morning would still belong to them.

The dock, before dawn

Three boats lay at anchor, their masts black against a paler black. Beyond them: the breakwater, the open mouth of the harbor, the country she had agreed to leave behind. The wind carried the smell of tar and salt and the cold green note of weed. She had been told, once, that you could read the weather by the sound of rope against wood. She had not believed it. She believed it now.

What she carried

• A letter, unread, sealed in wax the color of dried blood — Marcus had pressed it into her hand without speaking.
• A pocket watch that no longer kept time. Useless. Kept anyway.
• A spare pair of gloves; the wool was already stiff with salt.
• The address of a house in a city she had never seen.

What she left

1. The garden, half-dug.
2. A debt she did not intend to repay.
3. Her mother's name, in her own handwriting, on the door.

"You'll come back," she said. "Everyone does, in the end."

Claire did not answer. There was no answer that would not be a lie.

A glance toward the dock

Then — a lantern, swung once, twice, the signal she had been waiting for. She pulled her coat tighter and walked toward the water, and the wind, which had been only weather a moment before, became a voice.

Read more in Chapter 2 — The Crossing. See also the outline for act one.

Revision checklist

• Cut the second lantern beat — it repeats the opening page.

• Name the ship before the breakwater scene.

• Plant the pocket watch earlier, in Marcus's hands.

• Decide whether chapter 9 keeps the breakwater motif.