Just after sunrise, Mira was perched on a shallow tool basket near the lower village path, watching the sea wall as she liked to do when the wind woke up. The black stone of Kelpbone Steps was still wet and shiny, and the shells packed into the breakwater glimmered pale between the barnacles. Tobin stood a few steps above her with his striped cap pulled low, one hand lifted as if he could hold the coast still by being serious. Sella crouched by a crate of shells, paint-smudged fingers tucked under her chin, peering at the wall like it was telling a secret.
Then a low rumble rolled in from the water. It sounded like a giant chair scraping over the floor of the sea. Mira felt it in her toes before she heard the crack.
A thin line flashed through the shell-stone breakwater. It did not break open all at once. It slid sideways, slow as a worm under a leaf, and a few tiny shells tumbled out and clattered down the damp rock.
Tobin darted forward. “Stay back,” he said, too fast and too loud. “I’m going to warn the shops.”
“Wait,” Mira said, because she could see more now. The crack was not only in the wall. It ran above the lower village path, where people walked to the floating docks and the homes below. If the next strong wave hit there first, water could pour straight over the steps.
Sella leaned closer, eyes wide. “It’s splitting,” she whispered.
Mira pressed her wrapped feet against the wet stone and looked from Tobin to the crack. Tobin was already turning away to fetch grown-ups. Sella was still staring at the wall. Mira could rush after Tobin and insist she knew where the weak part was, or she could stay with Sella and find a better way to make the others look where she was looking. The water below kept bumping the docks, waiting for the next wave.
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