69

PHIN

The Bayou was shrouded in twilight. As I walked along the worn path toward the docks, the scent of brackish saltwater and moss was thick, like before a storm. Teddy's scent was unmistakable, mixed with whiskey.

He'd been keeping to himself more lately, and that never meant anything good.

I found him where I expected, down by the docks, hunched over a pile of nets he was supposed to be mending. He had a bottle of whiskey sitting next to him, the amber liquid nearly half-gone. His hands moved methodically, threading the rope through the tangled mess, but it was clear his mind was somewhere else.

"Teddy," I called out as I approached, trying to keep my tone light, though my chest tightened at seeing him like this.

He glanced up at me, the lines of worry etched deep into his face, but he didn't stop what he was doing. "Phin," he acknowledged, his voice rough from a mix of alcohol and whatever was eating at him.

I sat down beside him, close enough to feel the tension radiating off