As I stepped outside, I almost collided with Jim.

“What?” he snapped, his tone sharp and full of irritation.

Startled, I quickly moved aside, keeping my head down and avoiding eye contact. “Sorry,” I murmured. He didn’t even acknowledge my apology.

“Women,” he muttered under his breath, his words dripping with contempt as he brushed past me, likely heading inside to deal with his plate.

I pushed the brief encounter out of my mind and continued toward the control room. As expected, I found Bill there, steady at the wheel, his gaze fixed on the endless stretch of ocean ahead.

This is my chance, I thought, taking a deep breath to steady myself. I walked over and stopped just close enough to be heard.

“Excuse me, sir—Bill or Billy,” I began nervously. “I’m Aria Greenfield. My Aunt Marie sent me to the island. Do you remember her?”

Bill turned toward me, his expression calm but unreadable. Encouraged by his attention, I pressed on.

“Granny Chan mentioned that you and my aunt were close. I was hoping you might know where her house is located on the island? I should have asked her before I left, but everything happened so quickly...”

I trailed off, realizing I was rambling without giving him a chance to respond. His steady gaze made me fidget, the silence stretching uncomfortably.

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I know I should’ve waited or asked Granny Chan to introduce me properly, but I just need to know if you’ve heard from my aunt. I feel like she might need help, and—”

Bill still didn’t say a word. Instead, he reached out and gestured, making a motion with his hands.

Confused, I stared at him, trying to interpret the silent gestures. When it became clear I wasn’t understanding, he began searching for something—but came up empty-handed.

Finally, he reached for my hands to get my attention. Startled, I pulled them back reflexively.

“Look, sir,” I blurted, stepping back. “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. I didn’t mean to intrude or be rude, I just... I just need to know about my aunt.”

“He can’t talk,” came Granny Chan’s voice from behind me.

I froze, heat rising to my face.

“Granny Chan, I’m so sorry,” I stammered. “I came here without asking permission, and I...” I hesitated, realizing how impatient and selfish I must seem. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. I just wanted to know if he could help me find her.”

Granny Chan approached with a soft smile. “It’s alright, dear,” she said gently. “Bill isn’t upset. He’s mute—has been for years. He communicates in other ways, but it’s not always easy for people to understand.”

Mute? That explained the gestures and his silence. I felt a pang of guilt for my assumptions.

“I see,” I said softly, glancing back at Bill, who gave me a small nod as if to reassure me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make things difficult.”

Granny Chan patted my shoulder gently, her touch oddly reassuring despite the storm brewing inside me. “You’re just worried about your aunt,” she said quietly, her voice tinged with an emotion I couldn’t quite place. “And that’s understandable.”

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I nodded, swallowing the knot of apprehension in my throat. “Thank you,” I murmured

Granny Chan motioned for me to follow her back to the cabin. As I walked away, I felt a mix of relief and regret. One thing was clear: on this journey, I’d need to rely on patience and understanding more than ever.

And that’s the real challenge—patience has never been my strong suit.

I gave Bill a small, polite nod as I followed Granny Chan out of the control room, feeling the weight of unanswered questions pressing down on me. Frustrated, I let out a sigh, tilting my head up toward the sky. Suddenly, something caught my eye, and without thinking, I pointed and blurted out, “There it is again!”

Granny Chan stopped in her tracks, her gaze following the direction of my hand. “What is it, dear? The birds?”

“Yes, Granny, but not just any birds—the black ones,” I explained, my voice tinged with both excitement and unease. “For some reason, I keep seeing them everywhere.”

Granny Chan raised an eyebrow, studying the flock in the distance. “Interesting,” she murmured.

Something about her tone spurred me on. I suddenly remembered how she had explained the meaning of my name earlier. Maybe she could help me make sense of the strange dreams that had been haunting me.

“Granny,” I began hesitantly, “you seemed to know a lot about names and meanings. Do you think you could help me figure out what my dream might mean?”

Her interest deepened, and she gave me an encouraging nod. “Why don’t you tell me more, child? What happened in your dream?”

I took a deep breath, gathering my thoughts, and began recounting the dream to Granny Chan. I tried to piece it all together—the eerie scenes, the strange emotions.

I described the man, his presence both enthralling and alarming, and the wolf that seemed to watch me with an almost human intelligence. I mentioned the dress I was wearing, its color and texture vivid in my mind, and the strange connection I felt to everything around me and the black bird.

I didn’t leave anything out, recounting each detail I could remember. By the time I finished, it felt like I’d laid out pieces of a puzzle, waiting for Granny Chan to help make sense of it all.

Granny Chan’s expression turned thoughtful as I finished speaking. “I’m not sure about the other symbolics, but in many cultures,” she began, “a black bird in a dream often symbolizes change, transformation, or the mysteries of the unknown. Sometimes, it’s seen as a bridge between life and death, a guide to hidden truths or transitions.”

Her words sent a slight chill through me.

“A connection,” I murmured, recalling how strong that feeling was in the dream. But a guide between life and death? That sounded more ominous than I wanted to admit.

Granny Chan interrupted my spiraling thoughts. “What kind of black bird was it, Aria? That’s an important detail.”

I hesitated. “Why does that matter?”

She explained patiently. “If it was a crow, it might signify bad luck, misfortune, or even death—especially if it felt threatening or ominous. But if it was a raven, it’s often tied to transitions, personal growth, or major changes. Ravens are seen as guides, not just harbingers.”

I wracked my memory, trying to recall the bird’s details. “I’m not sure,” I admitted. Then, with a spark of clarity, I added, “But I think it was a raven. That feels... right.”

The word stirred something within me, pulling at a faint memory. That’s right!—Mr. Sentinel from the cab had mentioned his daughter, Raven. And then there was that girl on the school bus. Could she have been the Raven he was talking about? Oh, and the black birds on the tree at school after practice… Could it all be connected somehow? It had to mean something, right?

Granny Chan nodded, her voice calm but firm. “If it was a raven, it means you’re on the cusp of something important—a change that will test you. But your instincts, Aria, they’ll guide you. Trust them.”

Her words hung in the air as we walked toward the trunk cabin. Could I really rely on myself when everything felt so uncertain? The black bird—raven or not—seemed less like a helpful guide and more like an omen, hinting at something I wasn’t ready to face yet.

As we reached the cabin door, I couldn’t hold back my curiosity any longer. I hesitated, then asked, “Granny, has Bill always been mute? Was he born that way?”

Granny paused, her hand hovering over the doorknob. The question seemed to pull a shadow over her face, her soft smile fading into something heavier. The silence between us grew thick and uneasy.

“No,” she said quietly, her tone weighed down. “He wasn’t born mute. It was... cut.” Her gaze drifted toward the control room where Bill was. “Your aunt was the one who suggested it.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the chest. My breath caught, the air suddenly feeling too thin.

Cut.

The word echoed in my mind, sharp and jarring. I stared at her, trying to grasp what she’d just said. My aunt? How? Why?

“She... what?” I finally managed, my voice trembling.

Granny took my hand and led me a few steps away from the cabin door, as if she doesn’t want anyone else to overhear.

“It was for his safety,” she said in a low, almost whispering tone, though her explanation carried little comfort. “For all of our safety.”

I stared at her, my stomach churning as the weight of her words settled over me. My thoughts spun, trying to reconcile the aunt I thought I knew with the version hinted at now.

“Cut,” I repeated, the word foreign and heavy on my tongue. “How could that be for safety? How could she do that to him?”

Granny’s gaze hardened, though her eyes remained calm. “Sometimes, child, what seems cruel is a necessary choice to shield against a greater threat. Bill understands that. We all do.”

Her words lingered in the air, but they brought me no comfort. I couldn’t understand how Granny Chan could justify—let alone feel grateful for—what my aunt had done. The weight of it left me conflicted, torn between trusting Granny’s wisdom and the unease clawing at my thoughts.