The smell of rain rolled off the ocean in waves. Finn frowned and zipped his windbreaker up to just below his chin. Though the last few weeks had been quiet, the Otherworld’s storm well in the past, the promise of rain still made Finn anxious - as though he’d somehow crossed over and completely missed the threshold. It was a constant worry of his - that the borders would become blurred and he’d lose track of where he was too easily and then…

He’d be certifiable, that was for sure.

As he continued loading equipment back into the bed of the truck, the actual, literal storm gathering on the horizon sent his thoughts spinning back towards the storm. There’d been so many Dreamers there - more than he’d ever seen in the Otherworld. It was also the most action he’d ever seen in the Otherworld…

Surely, the two were linked.

He just didn’t know how.

Finn was equally bothered and flattered by how many people had come to him with questions. Which was to say that Jeremiah and Algernon had come to him with questions - but they were both much older than him, and their respect carried a lot of weight. While it was true that Finn had a lot of experience with the Otherworld, Jeremiah and Algernon had come asking questions he didn’t know the answers to, and had conveyed experiences to him that he just couldn’t relate to.

Things were changing too quickly, spinning out beyond what he knew and twisting into vast, unknowable new forms. He’d need to speak to Sunny, try to get his bearings, or…

Or something.

Thunder rumbled from across the water. Finn’s mouth was thick with petrichor. He picked up the pace, walking towards the jetty in double time. The last trap’s buoy bobbed a few yards off shore, and Finn climbed sure-footed over the rocks to reach it. He hauled it up, and-

For a second, he thought he saw something in the trap. Something that wasn’t supposed to be there. Something inky dark and bristling. Something with too many eyes and too many writhing legs and a pair of human hands the size of a doll’s.

And at that, Finn dropped the trap. It clattered onto the rocks, chicken-wire siding deforming at the sudden impact. The latch clicked open, and a foot-long lobster scurried out and over the side of the jetty, disappearing into the water with a plop.

Thunder rumbled again, closer this time, and a wave washed over the jetty, covering Finn’s boots. He swore, shoved the trap shut, and shoved it back over the side - the storm had come in too quickly to collect it, or at least that was what he’d put in his report.

It was technically true. He should have gotten off the beach fifteen minutes ago.

Finn hurried back to shore, picking his way carefully over the wet rocks. He jogged across the hard sand and up to the truck, casting one last glance at the churning sky as he turned the key in the ignition.

His heart was uneasy in his throat.