Sometimes, on those hot summer days, it’s isn’t the heat that gets you, it’s the water. Quiet. Patient. Watching. It remembers the ones who step too close, who linger too long, who forget that ripples are warnings. Sometimes the voice beneath the surface sounds like your own. Sometimes a scar blooms after the river touches you. And sometimes, when it drags you under… it doesn’t let go.

First, a scar you can’t escape

Followed by summer summons monsters

Finally in our last story, echoes from the drowned

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