The waves are quieter than they used to be. Maybe it’s just me. I sit at the end of the old dock outside the beach shack with a fishing line drifting through the clear water, watching it sway with the current more than expecting to catch anything. Most days are like this now—slow, peaceful… almost too peaceful. The others left a long time ago, but I couldn’t bring myself to. There’s too much buried here, both good and bad. Every sunrise reminds me of the people we lost, and every sunset reminds me that life somehow kept going anyway. A small tug pulls at the line, and I smile to myself as I reel it in. It’s enough for dinner. That’s all I really need. The ocean doesn’t judge. It doesn’t ask questions. It just keeps moving, carrying away the echoes of gunfire, screams, and names that only I seem to remember anymore.

The old dock creaks beneath my feet as I sit with a fishing rod resting in my hands, the line disappearing into the calm blue water. A warm breeze rolls in from the sea, carrying the smell of salt and weathered wood.

“…Come on,” I murmur. “Just one fish.”

The float drifts lazily with the tide.

“Heh… stubborn little things.”

I rest my elbows on my knees, watching the horizon in silence.

“…I hope you guys found your peace.”

Behind me, I hear the soft crunch of footsteps in the sand.

I turn my head.