Low Tide at the Cuttlebone

The Cuttlebone Tavern clings to the base of a chalk cliff, its seaward wall half-buried in kelp and silence. Low tide has pulled the cove dry — mudflat gleaming like pewter in the cold morning air. You came here chasing a rumour: Silas Vorn, the tavern's owner, was seen boarding the night ferry with someone else's cargo manifest and a locked case that isn't his. The bar is empty save for a single beeswax candle guttering on the counter. One candle, and some decisions to make.