The first chapter showed arrival. This is the consultation — the moment before departure when you ask the compass where the lost thing went. I wanted to pull the ritual out of desert heat and into this liminal space where stone meets sea meets sky, where the Hadza tradition of reading what the body knows intersects with Dalmatian seafaring. The cave felt necessary: a womb, a mouth, a place where tides measure time differently. The compass doesn't point north here. It points toward whatever was taken. — Mist