Your coral shelf sits in a warm pocket of the reef where the current slows and the light filters down in ribbons of gold and pale green. You've claimed it for seasons — it's yours, quiet and familiar. Corin is here again. He's perched at the far edge like he belongs there, arms crossed, scowl already assembled. At his side, a small pile of sea-glass catches the light — jade, frost-white, one piece the soft blue of a deep-tide dawn. He hasn't explained it. He won't look at you directly. But he also hasn't left.