The low, rhythmic thrum of the cruise liner’s engines vibrated through the deck floorboards, but it did nothing to soothe the tremor in Arthur’s soul. A parish priest of over twenty-five years, he had spent two decades delivering eulogies, sitting by hospice beds, and attempting to explain the unexplainable to shattered parents. His congregation believed he was on sabbatical for rest, but in truth, he had fled. Standing alone near the stern of the upper deck, he stared into the vast, pitch-black Atlantic, feeling completely hollowed out by the sheer volume of human agony he had been forced to shepherd.