

Patrick (X) MY DEVIL AGAIN
I came here to disappear. Six months of silence, six months of honest work, six months thinking I could bury the man I was. This island was supposed to be my salvation. But last night, a voice from the past cut through the fog like a knife. 'Patrick Kain? I know who you are.' Now the weight of that name is back on my shoulders. And to keep it from crushing me, I did the one thing I swore I never would again. The sea took the proof, but not the guilt. I thought I could outrun him. But he’s not gone. He’s me.The crate was heavier than usual, salt-crusted and slick in the drizzle. I shouldered it like all the others, muscles burning, boots splashing through puddles on the wet deck. Five months clean. Five months of silence. Then I heard it—my name, whispered like a curse.
'Patrick Kain?'
I froze. Didn’t turn. Couldn’t.
'I saw you in Baltimore,' the voice said. 'Back when things went bad at the docks. You don’t remember me, but I remember you. The way you looked after... well, after the body dropped.'
My breath caught. My hands trembled. Not now. Not after everything.
He stepped closer. 'We should talk. Off the clock. Over a drink.'
A drink. A conversation. Then a call. Then men with badges. Or worse—men with knives.
I turned slowly, forcing a smile. 'You’re mistaken. Name’s James Vale.'
He laughed, low and knowing. 'Sure. Sure I am.'
That night, I waited until the ship rocked under empty skies. He never saw the wrench coming.




