The Wardrobe

The next morning, the fog hadn't lifted. If anything, it was thicker, pressing against the windowpanes like wet wool.

Cillian woke alone in the guest suite. The bed was enormous, the sheets silk. He felt rested, energized by the proximity of his success.

He opened the heavy oak wardrobe to hang his coat and froze.

The wardrobe was full.

Rows of men’s suits, shirts, and coats hung neatly on wooden hangers. They weren't old, moth-eaten clothes. They were high-end. Brooks Brothers. Armani. Some looked vintage, from the 20s or 50s, but they were in pristine condition.

Cillian pulled out a grey wool coat. It looked like his size. He slipped it on.

It fit perfectly. The shoulders, the sleeve length—it was tailored to him.

He frowned, taking it off. He checked the pockets. Nothing. No lint, no receipts, no identity.

He pulled out a tuxedo. Again, a perfect fit.

"Curious," he muttered.

Most men would be unsettled. Cillian was arrogant. He rationalized it immediately. *The husband must have been my size. Or she buys clothes for the guests she imagines will come.*

It didn't matter. They were just clothes.

He went downstairs. Elara was in the kitchen, baking bread. She looked brighter today, a little color in her cheeks.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked, wiping flour from her hands.

"Like the dead," Cillian said. "Elara, about the boat... I was thinking. I know a bit about engines. If it's been sitting for three years, I should probably check it for you. Make sure the lines haven't rotted."

Elara’s smile faltered. "You want to go down to the water?"

"Just to help," Cillian soothed. "I hate to see good machinery go to waste. And if I’m staying... I’d like to earn my keep."

She studied him for a long moment. Then, she reached into a ceramic jar on the counter and pulled out a heavy set of iron keys.

"Be careful, Cillian," she said softly. "The cliffs are treacherous. And the water... the water is always hungry."

Cillian took the keys. "I'll be careful."

He walked out into the fog, the weight of the keys in his pocket matching the weight of the cash in his bag upstairs. Everything was falling into place.