Mira had climbed down to the last wet landing at Kelpbone Steps to do what she always did first: look for the wind, look for the tide, and see what the harbor was not saying out loud. Her yellow oilskin coat shone with tiny beads of spray, and her bare feet, wrapped for grip, slipped and squeaked on the black stone. Below her, the water had dropped farther than anyone expected. It had left behind a narrow path that curved around the sea stacks like a dark ribbon.
Mira leaned forward. The path was usually hidden under the sea, but now it lay open, slick with salt and shining in the morning light. Beyond the last bend sat the stranded tide pool shelter, a little round hut built low against the rocks so children and dockhands could rest and sort shells when the tide was kind. Only this morning, the tide was not kind at all. It was already crawling back, licking the path’s edges with quick little waves.
Bran came puffing down the stairs with a coil of rope over one shoulder. Tobin followed close behind, his striped cap tilted back as he stared at the water. “No one go on that,” Tobin said at once. “It’s too narrow.”
Mira did not answer right away. She could see the shelter clearly now, and she thought she saw a small shape at its doorway, waiting or waving, she could not tell which. The path was the only way across, and the tide was not waiting for anyone. Mira felt the choice pull tight in her chest: should she step onto the path now, call for help and send someone else first, or look for another way around before the water closed it off?
What happens next?
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