Killian Jones is uneasy.
And it’s seemingly for no reason. The streets near Boston Harbour are quiet, most patrons gone home to bed by this late hour or are secluded in any a number of taverns.
It's already well past sunset, the night having darkened to its inky blackness and lit lanterns bathe the harbour’s slick boardwalk in a warm, amber glow.
The sky is clear, pin-pricked with thousands of shining stars, reflected twofold in the still, dark water, and the bright moon casts a silvery shadow over it all.
All is calm.
Other than the sounds of footsteps on the old docks, the gentle lapping of the water against the stone walls of the harbour is the only sound he can hear.
Even the ever-chattering seagulls have quieted, their absence magnifying the stillness of the night,
and even the low murmurs of conversation that usually drift from other docked ships seems muted tonight.
Read the rest via the link in the description!