The old lighthouse stood on a black spur of rock at the end of the harbor, with the sea breaking white around its feet.
Nobody had lit it in thirty years. Its glass was cracked, its door was rusted shut, and a ring of rotten scaffolding clung to its side like the ribs of a dead fish. Damien had passed it a hundred times from the deck of a boat and never given it a thought.
He stood now on the stone causeway that led to it, with the wind tearing at his coat, and looked up.
A single light burned in the lantern room at the top. A small, steady yellow glow.
*She's up there.*
He had left Felix's call unanswered. He had left his phone in the car. He walked down the causeway alone, with the spray stinging his face and the cold seeping through his shoes, and every step felt like walking deeper into a dream.
