There’s an island on estuary that used to be inhabited.
Not many families. Just enough.

They guided ships through the channel. They survived hardship. They never left.

People said it was skill.
Older people said it was a bargain.

Now the island is empty.
The last man from that line still works the river.

And on certain nights, when the weather turns and no pilot boats go out, ships are told to wait.

Because if the payments stopped…
something else may have started.