Sea Like A Shroud unfolds with an eerie sense of loss and tension as the narrator grapples with the sudden departure of Kellan, a figure who had once felt like family. His absence is not merely a physical one but an emotional void that leaves the protagonist struggling with a mix of betrayal and confusion. The fact that Kellan had hinted at leaving before does little to soften the blow, as the narrator is left questioning why he departed without a word, without a final conversation, without any closure. The weight of uncertainty bears down heavily, making every lingering memory of Kellan feel like an unresolved riddle, a wound that refuses to close. The silence he leaves behind is louder than any farewell could have been, a ghostly presence lingering in every corner of their shared space. Lark, ever the voice of comfort, attempts to lighten the narrator’s mood, but the ache of abandonment is not easily soothed. Even as she speaks, the narrator can only half-listen, trapped in the labyrinth of their own thoughts.

As if reflecting the storm within the narrator, nature itself seems to turn volatile, with winds picking up and an ominous stillness preceding an oncoming tempest. Without warning, the world outside transforms into a violent chaos—winds howl through the town, bending trees, and sending debris flying in unpredictable patterns. The sky darkens with an unnatural urgency, as if the very elements conspire to mirror the uncertainty and turbulence the narrator feels. From the shelter of the shop, the narrator and Lark watch the storm rage, both captivated and horrified by its ferocity. The scene outside is surreal, with overturned carts, shattered glass, and loose shingles tumbling across the streets, adding to the sense of destruction. The intensity of the windstorm heightens the sense of unease, making it clear that the world they thought they understood is no longer as stable as it once seemed. The narrator clenches their fists, feeling the same helplessness that has accompanied Kellan’s sudden departure, the storm an echo of their internal disarray.

In the wake of the storm’s fury, another crisis presents itself—Vixen, their beloved dog, is missing. Panic grips them as they venture out into the debris-strewn streets, desperately calling her name while scanning the destruction for any sign of movement. The search lasts for what feels like an eternity, each passing moment adding to the gnawing fear that Vixen might be lost forever. Every gust of wind carries with it the scent of rain and dust, a reminder of how quickly stability can be upended. The frantic search is not merely about finding the dog; it is a fight against the mounting feeling that everything they love is slipping away. Just as exhaustion threatens to take hold, they spot her—shaken but alive, tangled in a mess of overturned crates near the old dock. Relief floods their system as they carry her back, but the victory is short-lived, as they return home only to find another nightmare waiting for them.

What had once been a sanctuary now feels defiled—inside the house, destruction is evident, but not from the storm. The true horror reveals itself in the overturned furniture, the emptied cabinets, and the broken remnants of familiarity that now litter the floor. The realization dawns quickly: this was not the work of nature but of human hands. Someone has invaded their space, tearing through their belongings, searching for something unknown. The weight of this violation crushes the temporary relief they had felt upon finding Vixen, replacing it with an overwhelming sense of exposure and helplessness. The narrator moves quickly, heart pounding, fearing what they might discover next. As they rush upstairs, their worst fears materialize when they find Lark injured, her form slumped against the hallway, the reality of their fragile existence sinking in. The chapter closes on an agonizing note, the world outside still in turmoil, but nothing matching the storm that now rages within the narrator’s heart.