Some nights are quieter than others. This wasn't one of them. In the third entry from Diary of the Ferryman, an endless line of young souls waits silently at the riverbank. There are no complaints, no questions—only the quiet weight of lives interrupted too soon. The ferryman can do little more than guide them across, each crossing adding another hour to an already endless shift. For the first time, the job doesn't feel inconvenient. It feels unbearably heavy.