Horst has spent some time along this very rocky coastline before, staring up at the weird, ugly grayish structure interrupting the sky. He prefers the look of the sea. False or real, it's a reminder of what it was like to live in a wide open world, once.

(He'd always wanted to see it; he'd considered running away with a theater troupe, a carnival, an Egyptian expedition. But there had always been something Father needed help with during the summer, some life event coming the next year that Mother had wanted to see him accomplish. Some sport championship the boys were counting on him to be involved with. Some girl he was seeing. Johannes isn't the only one who's wasted some of his life finding excuses not to reach for opportunities.)

"I don't know," he says, "on either count. I haven't been close enough to know for sure. I haven't seen any ships far enough out on the water that they'd run a risk of running aground or coming in amongst the rocks. There's an air field near my house, the other way -- but I haven't been able to find anyone at night who'll charter a flight up in the dark. I'm not even sure it's operational."

He looks between Johannes and the sea, a stiff wind blowing the water into choppy, shifting fragments. "Are you cold? I can go back for a coat."