The change came quietly.
Not with a wave crashing over the bow or a cry from the lookout, but with resistance—subtle at first, like sailing against an unseen slope. The ship continued forward, sails full, wind steady… and yet its pace began to slip.
Noel felt it through the deck before anyone said a word. The faint vibration beneath his boots deepened, not from strain, but from correction—constant, deliberate correction.
Gustave felt it too.
His hands shifted on the wheel, not sharply, but often. Small adjustments. Fractional turns. The kind only someone who had lived at sea for decades would bother making.
"That current shouldn't exist," the captain muttered.
Noel turned slightly. "Which one?"
Gustave didn't look away from the water. "All of them."
