Cold water withdraws from beneath you, dragging black sand through your fingers. Your mouth tastes of iron and salt. You know neither the coast nor the name that should answer the panic in your chest. Above the tideline, something knocks inside the ribs of a wreck. Beside you, a thin stream threads seaward between stones crusted white. Nothing grows where it passes. Inland, pale grass bends away from a wind you cannot feel.
Along the tideline, a blonde woman approaches with a severed black cord looped around one wrist. She keeps her empty hand where you can see it.