I close my laptop at 3 a.m. Outside, rain falls in static. The bay in my screen winks once—a reflection not of me, but of everyone who ever clicked "magnet link" and felt the tide turn.

They call it the Mirror Bay—not because the water is still, but because what sails here is never quite what it seems.

I type a forgotten film. A lost album. A piece of software that was supposed to disappear when its company sank.

Here’s a short, atmospheric creative piece inspired by the phrase Title: The Glass Strait