Security Strategy

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Tola had walked the old harbor road a hundred times, but never in fog this thick. The sea was only a whisper somewhere beyond the gray wall ahead. Her grandmother used to call this kind of fog “the curtain between moments”— a place where strange things slipped through.

Halfway to the pier, Tola saw a glow. A single lantern, swinging gently, though she felt no breeze. Curious—and a bit uneasy—she stepped closer.

An old fisherman stood beneath the lantern, though she hadn’t heard anyone approach. His coat looked soaked with years, not water. His eyes, bright as tide pools, studied her.

“You’re late,” he said. Tola blinked. “Late for what?” “For what you came to find.” He pointed toward the edge of the pier. There, resting on a wooden post, was a small wooden box. She didn’t recognize it, yet something in her chest pulled her toward it. With hesitant fingers, she lifted the lid. Inside lay a compass—its needle spinning wildly until suddenly, it stopped and pointed inland, toward the hills behind her town. “But… I didn’t come to find anything,” she whispered. The fisherman smiled kindly. “Sometimes we seek things before we know their names.” The fog thinned as though someone had taken hold of its edges and pulled. When Tola looked up again, the fisherman and the lantern were gone. Only the box—and the steady compass needle—remained. She stood alone on the pier, listening to the waves and her own heartbeat, knowing one thing for certain: her life had just shifted, like the tide turning under a hidden moon. Clutching the compass, she turned toward the hills and began to walk.

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