“It’s cold,” Morino says. She pulls the sleeves of her thin sweater down, covering her wrists.
Beneath us, ocean waves crash onto the rocks. I watch the seagulls circling, dipping down and rising with their beaks full. There’s a shadow sinking through the water, the path to an underworld of sorts.
Morino’s hair swirls around her head. I wonder what happened here, just before I reached the edge. There’s still foam on the water’s surface.
“I’m hungry,” Morino says, turning away. I follow her back down the slope. Behind us, two pairs of shoes are lined up on the edge.