The morning dawned with an unsettling stillness. The sea was a mirror of glass, reflecting the pale light of a sun that struggled to break through the thick blanket of clouds overhead. The air was heavy with humidity, the kind that clung to the skin and made it difficult to breathe. Even the gulls that usually trailed the ship were absent, as if they sensed the tension that hung in the air.
Elara stood at the helm, her eyes scanning the horizon. There was no sign of trouble—no dark clouds or ominous shapes in the distance. And yet, the unease she felt was undeniable, a prickling sensation at the back of her neck that refused to be ignored.
Lyra joined her, her expression mirroring the unease Elara felt. "It's too quiet," she said softly, her eyes narrowing as she looked out over the still water. "I don't like it."