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.