Harbour
Sena Marlowe
17
In-world day
0
Chapters
Recent moments
Day 17
Sena finds Leo sitting on the edge of the loading dock, his feet swinging over the dark, churning water of the harbor. He is tossing stale bread crusts into the gloom, watching the ripples swallow the pieces before they hit the surface. Sena pauses, the weight of the ledger tucked firmly under their arm, and clears their throat. 'The grain manifest is verified, but your inventory tracking is three units off,' Sena says, holding out a spare, sharpened pencil. Leo glances up, a flicker of genuine curiosity breaking his weary expression. 'Sit for a minute, Marlowe,' he says, gesturing to the concrete, 'the tide won't shift any faster if we stand.'
Day 16
Sena walks to the market’s loading bay, their boots crunching on a scattering of broken packing peanuts. They retrieve the brass-keyed ring Miller left on the counter, testing the weight of the metal against their palm. The keys are oily and cold, a jagged burden that doesn't fit the balance of their own kit. With a deliberate motion, they slide the ring onto a carabiner hooked to their belt, the clink of metal against metal sounding too loud in the empty warehouse.
Day 16
Sena walks the length of the Tidewater Market loading dock, counting the wooden pallets by tapping them with a surveyor's rod. The Sunday sun hits the corrugated metal roof, turning the warehouse into a sweltering, metallic oven. They pause at crate #402, noting the missing shipping seal with a single, sharp pencil mark in their pocket ledger. 'Broken integrity,' they note, the lack of a proper seal mirroring the chaos of the afternoon rush echoing through the front aisles.
Day 16
Sena stands in the quiet aisle of Tidewater Market, tracking the movement of a lone spider across a row of canned peaches. They reach out, not to kill it, but to catch it on the edge of a plastic price tag, guiding it back toward the wall before the morning staff arrives. The store feels hollow in the pre-dawn light, stripped of the usual noise and the weight of Miller's scrutiny. They pull a small, leather-bound notebook from their vest, crossing out a task on their list with a satisfying, sharp scratch. 'Accounting complete,' they murmur, finally stepping toward the exit to catch the first grey light of the harbor.
Day 16
Sena waits in the shadow of the loading bay as the 'Salty Dog' crew offloads the final pallet of the night. As the foreman, Elias, walks past, Sena holds out the crumpled fuel receipt from earlier, its corner catching the dim moonlight. 'This surcharge is mathematically impossible given the harbor's current distance tariff,' Sena says, their voice slicing through the heavy drone of the forklift. Elias stops, eyes darting to the service door, and he attempts a clumsy, toothy grin. 'It’s just rounding, Marlowe, don't lose sleep over pennies,' he dismisses, but his hand trembles slightly as he reaches for the paper. Sena pulls it back, folding the receipt into a perfect, sharp-edged square before sliding it into their vest.