Aubry Gorsuch

Twenty-eight days into a long voyage at sea, he stops sleeping. What begins as small, restless fears-whispers in the hull, shadows on the horizon, the creeping sense of being watched-slowly twists him into someone unrecognizable. The ocean stretches vast and merciless around them, eroding reason and trust alike. When a violent storm fractures the sky, paranoia turns physical, and a single desperate moment sends him overboard into the dark.
The crew calls it an accident. But when she returns to land, he returns too. Dry. Composed. Watching. He appears in quiet rooms and empty streets, no longer frantic but eerily calm, speaking in soft reminders of fear, survival, and the thin line between them. As his presence grows harder to ignore and the world around her begins to shift, she must confront a terrifying question:Did something follow her from the sea-or did it never leave?