By the time Malloy reaches the docks, the night has already made its move.
She stands at the edge of the pier—still, waiting—like someone expecting answers to arrive by water. A rowboat cuts through the dark toward her, two silhouettes rowing slow, deliberate.
No greetings. No hesitation.
Just a quiet shake of the head.
Whatever was pulled from the harbor… isn’t in that boat.
For the first time, the woman in red doesn’t look dangerous—she looks wronged.
And somewhere between the docks and the Mariner’s End, someone just made a decision that’s going to cost blood.
Image imagined in chatGPT and finished with Topaz Studio and Lightroom Classic.
