Rain came down. Rain came left, and rain came right. Some rain defied all logic and came upwards from the heaving deck.

Miguel swayed, a turbulent green attempting to show on his darkened face. He had been at sea forty-seven days, more than he’d ever called one place home. Stowing away had been a bad idea. Revealing himself in hopes of getting food had been a worse idea. His ill-timed idea to jump ship was the worst one he’d had yet, possibly in his entire misbegotten life.

A bright streak of blue split the sky. The boom rocked Miguel such that he fell, not that he’d been far from doing so in any case. He looked up to where the light had been, the afterimage still glowing greenish yellow in his vision.

“Fear not,” came a siren’s coo, an echo on the wind, quiet but firmly present, “Own thy suffering. Pain is a sign of life, little one.”

Miguel stood. He searched his surroundings. There was no source for the voice. His chest heaved. Small fists clenched against the chaos. He knew that voice.