The Never-Ending Midnight

The morning sun cast long shadows across Anchor's End's cobblestone streets as Finn Mercer leaned against the weathered brick wall of Gulliver's General Store, his dark eyes scanning the small crowd gathered around Mrs. Henderson's produce stand. At seventeen, he possessed the kind of easy charm that made people forget to count their change and the quick wit that turned every conversation into an opportunity. His unruly brown hair caught the coastal breeze, and his crooked smile suggested he knew something you didn't—which, more often than not, he did.

"Shame about those tomatoes," he said, approaching Mrs. Henderson with practiced sympathy. "Word is there's a blight going around the neighboring farms. Might want to stock up before the prices triple."

Mrs. Henderson's weathered face creased with worry. "A blight? But these came from Miller's farm just yesterday—"

"Oh, I'm sure Miller's fine for now," Finn said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "But my cousin works the docks, and he's seen the cargo manifests. Emergency shipments of produce coming in from three towns over. The suppliers are already preparing for shortages."

Within minutes, Mrs. Henderson had doubled her order for the week, and Finn had pocketed a generous "finder's fee" for his invaluable market intelligence. The truth was, there was no blight, no cousin at the docks, and no emergency shipments. There was only Finn's gift for reading people's fears and turning them into profit.

He whistled as he walked toward the harbor, where the fishing boats bobbed like tired seabirds against the pier. Anchor's End had been his home for three years now—long enough to learn every merchant's weakness, every resident's secret, and every opportunity for a clever young man with flexible morals. The town was small enough that everyone knew everyone, yet large enough that a careful operator could work multiple schemes without them intersecting. Perfect, really.

The salty air carried the familiar sounds of the morning catch being unloaded, the cry of gulls, and the distant clang of the lighthouse bell. Finn had no family here, no deep roots, no burning ambitions beyond his next score. The world was a game, and he was winning by playing people like chess pieces, always three moves ahead.

As he settled onto a bench overlooking the harbor, counting his morning's earnings, Finn felt the familiar satisfaction of a job well done. Life in Anchor's End was predictable, profitable, and entirely under his control. The townspeople provided endless entertainment and opportunity, and he moved through their lives like a shadow, taking what he needed and leaving before anyone grew too suspicious.

He had no idea that in a matter of hours, all his carefully constructed advantages would crumble into dust, and the sleepy coastal town would transform into something from his darkest nightmares. The game was about to change, and for the first time in his life, Finn Mercer would find himself playing for stakes he couldn't afford to lose.