_____________________REC°_______________________

Evan always noticed the sea before anything else. People's first impression of him is that he is a quiet and peculiar guy. However, I never understood that, because he is the reason I kept moving forward.

Even on days when the city felt loud—buses hissing to a stop, students crowding the sidewalks, gulls screaming over discarded food—the ocean remained constant. Gray-blue, restless, breathing against the shore.

While Koethe's song the space between plays in both our headphones. When Mira loses her way with words, she sends us songs at peculiar moments.

He lifted his camera and adjusted the focus.

The waves blurred. The horizon sharpened. Mister Cameraman never misses.

Click.

“That one good?”

I leaned over his shoulder, helmet tucked under my arm, grin already forming before Evan answered.

“It’s never good enough,” He said, lowering the camera.

“That’s the most “you” thing you could’ve said.”

___________________21%_____________________________________

Why am I thinking back to that memory now? Joseph thought,

The storm warning had hit his phone two hours ago. Mira had messaged right after. Evan hadn’t answered. Not the first call nor the second. Evan wasn’t answering any of his calls. 

So he hurried driving his motorcycle to the Cafe and then the nearby beach side. The last thing he thought would occur was finding his friend almost drowning.

The rain was pouring heavily, Joseph didn’t think. That was probably the only reason Evan was still alive.

One moment Evan was standing at the edge of the water, shoes abandoned behind him, coat soaked through, staring into the sea like it was answering questions Joseph couldn’t hear. 

The next, Joseph was sprinting, lungs burning, yelling his name like it might physically pull him back.

“Evan—hey! EVAN!”

Nothing.

The sea surged forward, foam licking Evan’s ankles, then his calves. He didn’t flinch nor blink. His hand was clenched tight around a dark blue book, the cover warped and dripping.

Joseph grabbed him from behind. “Nope. Absolutely not.”

Evan was heavier than he looked—or maybe the water was doing something strange, pulling, insisting. Joseph dug his heels into the wet sand, swearing under his breath as a wave slammed into his knees.

“wake up,” he gasped, “Do you want to die?”

“Careful” The voice came from behind him—low, rough, oddly calm for the storm clawing at the shore.

Joseph twisted around. A man stood a few steps back, rain slicking down his oil-dark coat. One eye was hidden beneath a leather patch, the other sharp and pale, fixed not on Evan—but on the book clenched in his hand.

“I said, careful,” the man repeated, already moving closer. 

Joseph stared at him. “What the hell—who are you? Help me or get back!”

The man didn’t argue. He waded in beside Joseph, boots sinking, hands steady as he reached for Evan’s arm.

“On three,” the sailor said. “Wait for the wave,” the sailor said. “Then pull.”

They pulled together.

For a moment, the resistance was terrifying—like something unseen tightening its grip—but then Evan sagged, weight collapsing forward as if a string had been cut. They stumbled backward, dragging him onto the shore. Water rushed past them, frustrated, retreating.

The necklace at Evan’s throat dimmed, its faint glow withdrawing like a breath finally released.

Joseph dropped to his knees, chest heaving. He muttered. “Evan—Evan, hey—”

The sailor crouched instead of answering.

As he shifted his grip, his hand brushed Joseph’s wrist.

Heat.

Not warmth—heat. Sudden and sharp, like touching metal left in the sun too long.

The sailor froze.

Slowly, he looked up at Joseph. His uncovered eye widened just slightly.

“…You?” he said.

Joseph yanked his hand back. “What?”

The old man didn’t answer. His gaze lingered, searching Joseph’s face as if trying to place something that refused to settle. Then his attention snapped to the book still clutched in Evan’s fist.

“Dispose of it,” he murmured, eyes glinting. “It’s not safe, the Lapis codex”

Then he turned and vanished into the storm, leaving only churned sand—and the unsettling certainty that something ancient had just recognized them both.

__________________________________________

Morning came quietly. The café smelled like old coffee and rain-soaked wood. Joseph had not slept. He sat at the café table with his elbows braced against his knees, staring at the floor like it might confess something if he looked long enough. Evan lay asleep on the prep couch, wrapped in a blanket, hair still damp at the edges. His breathing was steady now. That was the only thing keeping Joseph from pacing.

The bell over the door rang softly.

Joseph looked up just as Mira stumbled inside, soaked through, hair plastered to her face, bass case slung crookedly over her shoulder.

“Sorry,” she said breathlessly.“I—my parents wouldn’t let me out last night because of the storm, I came as soon as I could. I saw your motorcycle outside-”

She stopped when she saw Evan.

“…Is he okay?”

Joseph nodded, once. Then again, like he needed to convince himself. “He’s sleeping.”

Mira dropped her bag without caring where it landed and crossed the room in three steps. She hovered, unsure whether to touch Evan or not.

“What happened?,” she asked, quieter now "I thought I sent you both a message about the weather warning forecast."

Joseph exhaled through his nose. "I don’t know, He was at the sea. Just standing there. No matter how many times I called, he wouldn’t respond. He looked like he was "possessed.”

Mira swallowed. Joseph's speech lacked his usual humor. They both knew what that meant. They both knew what happened to Evan’s mother."That's not like him at all", Mira gulped nervously.

“I know,” he said. “I just don’t want to imagine him standing there alone.”

They fell silent again.

Evan shifted then, a small sound leaving his throat. Both of them leaned forward at the same time. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Mira said, “Did he say anything?”

Joseph shook his head. “He was holding an old blue book.”

Her eyes flicked up. “A book?”

“Yeah. And for a second…” He hesitated.

“I thought maybe he was just tired ...or fed up. You know, Like people get.”

"Do you think he gave up looking for his mother?" Joseph asked one last time before looking away.

Mira’s throat tightened. “He’s not the kind of person who just… gives up,"

"Also... My sister is still looking into Miss Nana's file” Mira hesitated.

Before he could fully open his eyes, both of them were on him, Mira hugging his shoulders, Joseph grabbing his arm, squeezing hard enough to make him wince. “Okay—ow—wow,” Evan croaked. “What are you two doing?”

Mira laughed and cried at the same time, pressing her face into his shoulder. “You scared us.”

Joseph let go but stayed close. “Don’t ever do that again.”

Evan blinked, confused. “Do what.”

Joseph frowned. “You don’t remember?” Evan shook his head slowly. “Not much. I remember… the sea. And my mum.”

The room went quiet.

“I think she was calling me,” Evan said quietly. “Maybe I just wanted her to.” 

Joseph watched him carefully, “You weren’t trying to die.”. Evan met his eyes, steady. “No. Why do you say so.”

Mira wiped her face. “Is there anything you need to tell us?”

Evan hesitated, then nodded. “A woman came to the café a few days ago. She forgot a book. She hasn’t been back. I thought I’d take it to the library”

Joseph stiffened. “what about the storm? You should've stayed at the studio.”

“Yeah,” Evan said. “It started suddenly. And it felt like… like I was being told to go to the shore.”

They exchanged a look. Joseph went to the counter and brought the book back. He placed it between them.Evan frowned. “That wasn’t there.”

“What.”

“The writing,” Evan said while coughing. “It was empty".

Mira leaned closer. Two lines stared back at her:

And in this eternal conjura,

I release all guilt in the water streams.

She whispered it once. Then again.

Joseph sighed. “Please tell me that’s not academic.”

Mira shook her head slowly. “It rhymes.”

“With what.”

“I’ll have to recheck,” she said.

Joseph rubbed his face. “Mira. Not now.”

Mira pulled the bass from the sack, fingers brushing the worn strings. She hummed the poem under her breath, letting the words guide her hands: And in this eternal conjura… I release all guilt in the water streams. Each syllable found a note—D, F, G, A—rising and falling like waves, until the final “streams” landed heavy on the root. The sound was low, trembling, almost like the ocean itself was echoing her chant.

Suddenly and without warning, the book pulsed. Wind slammed against the windows. One of them flew open with a crack. Evan stared at it. “what's going on?"

"I don't know whether I should be impressed by your playing or whether I should be terrified of whatever happened just now.” Joseph mentioned.

The café bell rang.

"Are you expecting someone?" Mira questioned.

"hm, not really. We don't work on Sunday", Evan replied while adjusting his blanket.

Mira stepped toward the door.

Joseph caught her wrist. “I’ll do it.”

He moved forward.

And whatever waited on the other side did not sound human when it knocked again.