Chapter 4 — Reflections in the Workshop

Ethan

The rhythmic sound of sanding filled the workshop, a steady drone that should have been soothing. Instead, it barely dulled the edge of Ethan Walsh’s thoughts, which churned like the tides beyond the harbor. His calloused hands moved automatically over the wooden hull of a dinghy, the coarse sandpaper smoothing away years of wear and neglect. The scent of varnish and aged wood mingled with the ever-present tang of salt air that seeped through the cracks in the shop’s walls. Normally, this was his sanctuary, a place where time slowed and the world beyond the harbor faded to a distant hum. Today, though, it felt as though the walls were closing in.