Hearsay On The Waterway Novels & Stories

Kairos POV “They burned the ledger.” Silas said it like a fact, not an accusation. The words hit harder than I expected. I stopped walking so fast that Seren almost ran into me. We were halfway down the ravine path, early light just starting to thin the dark. “What ledger?” Seren asked. Silas swallowed. “The river traders’ records. Names. Routes. Exchanges.” My jaw clenched. “That wasn’t public,” I said. “That was private movement.”

Herald asked as the ship jolted, causing his stomach to lurch as he reached to save his biscuit from doing the same. “We have reached the southern waters so it should only be a day or so now,” the captain replied. “So soon,” Herald gasped, “we only just switched direction.” The captain and Stephen laughed simultaneously. “Where did you get that notion?” Stephen asked. “From... I heard,” Herald stammered as he looked at the captain who simply looked back at him with a raised brow. “I heard you discussing it with the captain last night.” “You did, did you?” Stephen said with amusement. “The trouble with eavesdropping is that you run the risk of not hearing all of the facts. We altered course a

“It seemed too much of a coincidence to overlook the relationship considering our discussion in the car.” “Bodies in the water,” Heath murmured. They all paused listening to the house creak in the storm.

We all exited the cars and I drew out two daggers as we approached slowly. The vehicle was empty. I dropped my arms and Jordan swore. “They're gone, but we couldn't have missed them by much. They dumped the car here, which means they could be able to get where they were going by foot or have alternate transporta-” “Shh.” I held up a hand for silence and cocked my head. “Listen.” We were quiet for a few seconds, then I heard it again: the gentle sloshing of water, and hushed whispers. We all looked towards the water. In the distance, I could just make out two shapes by the water bending down to get into a boat.

“You said you would check them.” I nodded once, pushing off the desk and straightening. “They are next.” My fingers drummed briefly against the wood. “If we move through the water, we cut half the heat we are seeing on the roads. Faster, quieter. But first, we clear the path. No cops, no patrols. No loose ends.” My gaze found Marco’s. He folded his hands on the table. “Make it quick.” His tone was clipped, hard. “Fifty kilos is inbound in three days, plus cash. If the waterways aren’t secure by then, we lose more than just our product.”

she asked cheerfully, continuing her steps. Nathan was now at the front of the deck, right in front of the captain's cabin. He was made to sit on his knees again. Meanwhile, Haisley was taken further to the edge of the deck, the man carrying her still keeping her standing. Haisley glanced at Loretta; the woman seemed to stand casually, leaning her hips against the railing, with both hands folded in front of her chest. "I once heard a story," the woman began with a dramatic tone. "There was a little girl who used to be so good at swimming, but due to a tragedy, she became afraid of water." She continued with a horrifying grin, her sharp eyes fixed on Haisley.

There was something about watching the swell of waves in the Gulf of Mexico that was so pleasant and soothing. During his years in JAG, whenever he was caught up in an intricate case, one that needed its snarls unraveled or a fresh approach, he'd go to the water, wherever he was stationed, and just spend some time looking out at it. It always helped him clear his head and he could approach the problem with a fresh look. He was hoping the same thing would happen here, and he'd know what decisions to make when he got back to Newport.

“And what did the water say?” Her eyes return to mine, sharp and cold. “The water keeps secrets,” she says. “But it also remembers.” A chill crawls up my spine. I think of Leah, whispering that they know when she’s scared. I think of the way institutions use language the way oceans use currents—subtle, powerful, invisible until you’re already being pulled under. “How did she drown?” I ask. The woman hesitates for the first time. Not fear. Something heavier. “She went swimming,” she says finally. “The sea was calm. Too calm, some said. The kind of calm that makes fools of careful people.”

“Especially then.” That lands hard across the group. Family is the word this city used to keep them still. Now it is a hazard warning. The heat exchange hatch opens under the counseling clearance. Steam rolls out. Route two smells like rust, hot water, and old algae. Sarah smiles without humor. “Flooded is generous.” Water laps halfway up the first ladder. Tavi peers down. “I can swim.” Lysa says, “No one asked for optimism.” “I can also hold my breath.”

“The voices?” Hana leaned back on her stool. “I’ve lived by the sea for seventy-three years. I’ve heard storms scream, waves sing, and sailors swear on their dying breath that the tide speaks to them.” She shrugged. “Water remembers everything. Maybe it remembers you.” “But why me?” Lys whispered. “That,” Hana said, “is what we must find out.” The older woman stood and handed her a bowl filled with water. “Let’s try again. Channel the moonlight.”