Marsh was reading drowning files at 3am when the pattern hit him. Six bodies from Saltcreek. Six insurance claims filed three days before each one drowned—all for water damage to the same beach house. A house none of them owned. He printed them all, spread them on his desk, and stared until it clicked: nobody reported the tide.

Emma's mother handed me the phone. "She got this text the morning she died." The message: "LEAVE SALTCREEK. TONIGHT." Sent at 2am from a blocked number. I looked up. "Did she?" The mother shook her head. "She said she'd be fine. She went for a swim anyway."

I checked the other victims' phones. All of them got texts. Same blocked number, all between 2am-4am. All warnings to leave. All dated exactly three days before they drowned. I stared at my notes. Someone knew they were going to die. And they tried to warn them.

I went to the police. They listened, then made a call. Ten minutes later, a woman in a suit arrived. Town counsel. "These allegations are serious," she said. "We'll investigate. In the meantime, maybe you should think about whether you want to stay in Saltcreek." It wasn't a threat. It was worse. It was a choice.