The night presses close along the Lake Superior shore—cold, heavy, and alive. The waves move like ghosts over the stones, dissolving and reforming in the dim light. Out on the water, nothing is certain; shapes rise and fade, and the wind carries a sound that feels older than language. The rocks stand like sentinels, their dark outlines fixed against the shifting mist. Here, the world feels paused—caught between the seen and the unseen, where even the moonlight seems unsure of its place.