Family!

The once-thriving coastal homes of Bangor Port, now damp and weatherworn, stood largely abandoned by locals who had moved inland in search of better living conditions. Yet, as the port expanded and its economy boomed, outsiders flooded into the city, driving housing prices skyward. For the struggling poor, these seaside houses became a grim refuge.

With minimal renovations, these salt-soaked dwellings were rented out to foreign laborers and refugees. The conditions were harsh; cold, damp, and unhealthy, but the rent was cheap. For five silver coins a month, a family of three could squeeze into a cramped single room, a small mercy for those who had nowhere else to go.

In one such room, a small stove crackled faintly in the corner, doing its best to ward off the pervasive chill. A kettle balanced precariously on top, steam hissing from its spout as the lid clattered noisily.

By the stove, a little girl no older than eight or nine stood on tiptoes, her small hands protected by a worn towel as she carefully lifted the kettle. The hot metal burned her hands red, but she didn't flinch. She poured the steaming water into a basin of lukewarm water, stirred it, and soaked a cloth in the mix. Wrapping the cloth tightly to wring out the excess water, she hurried to the bed, her small footsteps barely making a sound on the wooden floor.

"Here, Mama," she said softly, placing the warm towel on the forehead of the pale, frail woman lying beneath a thin quilt.

The woman opened her eyes weakly, her face etched with illness and guilt. "Ava, darling, you've done enough. Go and rest for a while," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Ava shook her head, her expression serious beyond her years. "No, Mama. Papa and James are working. I have to take care of you."

Angelina, the woman, reached out a trembling hand to touch her daughter's cheek. Her heart ached with both pride and sorrow. Ava should have been running outside, laughing with other children, not burdened by the responsibilities of tending to a sick mother. Yet here she was, so capable, so selfless.

"Mom," Ava said suddenly, her voice small and hesitant, "I miss my brother." Her lips quivered as she remembered the times her older brother James had cared for her, especially when she'd been sick.

Angelina's arms reached out from under the quilt, pulling Ava close. Her daughter's words pierced her heart like a dagger. How could she not miss him, too?

Angelina's mind drifted back to that terrible day. They had been fleeing south with a group of refugees, exhausted and desperate, when the monster struck. It had come out of nowhere, barreling into their group like a nightmare given form. People screamed and scattered in all directions, chaos breaking apart families in an instant.

In her panic, Angelina had grabbed Ava's hand and run, her instincts driving her forward. It wasn't until they had found safety hours later that she realized her eldest son was gone.

She and her husband had searched for him, combing through the area with desperate hope. They had called his name until their voices were hoarse. But there was no trace of him; only the deafening silence of the forest.

Eventually, the group urged them to move on. They had no choice but to continue south, dragging their grief and guilt along with them. Since then, every night, Angelina dreamed of her son. She would see him by her bedside, hear his voice calling out to her. Yet, every time she reached for him, he vanished like a ghost.

Angelina tightened her embrace around Ava, pulling her closer. She wiped the tears from her daughter's cheeks with her thumb, forcing a smile despite her own tears. "Ava, you're such a strong girl. Don't cry, my darling. We have to stay strong, for each other."

"But, Mama," Ava whispered, her voice trembling, "you're crying too."

Angelina let out a shaky laugh. "That's because I'm so proud of you. You're taking such good care of me. But no more tears, alright?"

Ava nodded, though her eyes glistened. She straightened up, determined. "Mama, we're almost out of water. I'll go fetch some more," she said, already reaching for the empty jug by the door.

"No!" Angelina's voice was sharp, startling Ava. She grabbed her daughter's arm, her grip firm despite her frailty. "You're not going out. Stay here. Stay with me."

Ava looked up, confused. "But Mama—"

"Just stay," Angelina interrupted, pulling her daughter into her lap. Her arms encircled Ava protectively, one hand smoothing her hair while the other wrapped tightly around her waist.

Her eyes flickered to the frosted window, her breath catching in her throat. Outside, a blurry figure loomed, its outline distorted by the foggy glass. It didn't move, but its presence was unmistakable.

Angelina's grip on Ava tightened. Her heart raced as she stared at the shadow, a creeping sense of dread washing over her. **Whatever it was, it was watching.**

The features of the man outside the window became clearer with each passing moment. His face pressed firmly against the frosted glass, flattening his nose and distorting his cheeks. His eyes scanned the dimly lit room with an unsettling intensity, as if he had every right to peer into their lives.

Angelina clutched Ava tighter, her body trembling with a mix of fear and fury. Her heart raced, but she was powerless to act.

Suddenly, a loud, angry voice shattered the eerie silence outside.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing by my house?"

The man at the window flinched and pulled back, glancing nervously toward the source of the voice.

"Hey, man," the intruder said, feigning innocence. "Is this your house?"

"Get lost!" the voice bellowed. "If I catch you snooping around here again, I'll beat you to a pulp!"

The intruder hesitated for a moment, then slinked away into the shadows, muttering under his breath.

The door creaked open moments later, and two figures entered the room, a tall, broad-shouldered man and a sturdy boy who trailed behind him.

"Angelina, I chased him off," the man said, stepping into the dim light.

It was Hamilton, her husband. His beard was thick, his short black hair dusted with the grime of a long day's work. His square jaw and piercing eyes radiated a protective energy, though the lines of fatigue on his face were hard to miss.

Following close behind was their second son, James, a boy with the beginnings of his father's build but a face still marked with youthful innocence.

"Dad," James said, his tone firm, "that guy's been lurking around the house for days. I've seen him a couple of times."

Hamilton nodded, his face darkening. "I know. Maybe it's time we moved to a new place."

"But where?" Angelina interjected, worry etched into her pale face. "The houses in the city are too expensive, and what if that man comes back after we leave? We can't risk it."

Hamilton sighed, his frustration evident. The situation was far from ideal, but he didn't have an immediate solution.

For the past two weeks, the family had learned some harsh truths about Bangor Harbor. The city's prosperity masked a darker underbelly. Refugees were prime targets for criminals, especially children. Stories circulated about kids being snatched from poor neighborhoods, some sent to brothels, others sold into servitude for nobles with twisted appetites.

Hamilton clenched his fists at the thought. He had heard too much during his time working on the docks. Bangor Harbor was a city of contrasts: its wealthy districts boasted elegant five-story homes and impeccably dressed merchants and nobles, but the slums were a stark reminder of the desperation beneath the glittering surface.

"It's not safe here," he said finally, his voice low but firm. "But for now, we have no choice. James and I are making good money at the docks. If we work hard, we can save up enough to move to a better part of the city soon."

"How much can you even make carrying cargo?" Angelina asked, skeptical but hopeful.

Hamilton's expression softened slightly. "Four or five silver coins a day if we push ourselves. It's hard work, but it pays well."

Angelina nodded, though worry still clouded her eyes. "Promise me you'll be careful. And what about Ava? She needs to stay safe while you're out. I don't want her leaving the house for any reason."

"She won't," Hamilton reassured her. He glanced at Ava, who clung to her mother's side. "As long as she stays inside, no one will dare try anything during the day."

Angelina hesitated, then spoke softly. "I'm just… worried about Leonard. If we move, what if he can't find us?"

Her words hung in the air. Leonard, their eldest, had been separated from them during the chaos of their escape. She didn't know if he was alive, much less if he had managed to make it to Bangor Harbor.

Hamilton crouched beside the bed, placing a calloused hand on Angelina's shoulder. "I've thought about that too," he admitted. "But we can't let fear stop us from staying safe. If Leonard comes here, this is the first place he'll look; most refugees start in the slums. If we do move, I'll leave word with the people I know. We'll make sure he can find us."

Angelina nodded reluctantly. "I just hope he's alright…"

Hamilton forced a reassuring smile, though his own worries were not so easily banished. "He's smart, just like his mother. He'll find us."

Some familiar faces from their hometown had also made the journey to Bangor Port. In this strange city, where everything felt unfamiliar, there was a natural camaraderie among people who shared the same roots. It was easier to find comfort in one another, a lifeline of familiarity amidst the chaos.

For now, all they could do was wait, work, and pray that the family would one day be whole again ane Leonard too make his way to Bangor Harbor.