Mara kneaded the dough with hands that knew every rhythm of the kitchen, her fingers pressing into the warm, yeasty mass as if extracting secrets. The oven’s glow cast golden light across the bakery’s wooden counters, mingling with the scent…
Clara’s days began with the scent of salt and the crash of waves against the rocks. She stood at the edge of the cliff, her boots sinking into the damp earth as she adjusted the lantern’s wick. The lighthouse had…
The storm broke at dawn, splitting the sky into jagged fragments of gray and blue. Clara stood at the edge of the cliff, her boots sinking into the damp earth as she watched the waves claw at the rocks below.…
The salt air clung to Mara’s skin as she climbed the lighthouse stairs, each step a creak of memory. The beam swept across the darkened shore, painting the rocks in silver streaks. She hadn’t meant to come here, not after…
Clara stepped off the creaking ferry onto the dock, her boots sinking into the wet wood as the salt-laden breeze tugged at her sleeves. The town of Marrow’s End stretched before her, a cluster of weathered cottages huddled against the…
Clara stepped off the train at Seabrook Station, her boots crunching on gravel as the scent of salt and diesel hung heavy in the air. The town had not changed—same crooked storefronts, same rusted fishing boats bobbing in the harbor—but…
Clara stepped off the bus, her boots crunching on gravel as the salt-kissed wind tugged at her coat. The town of Marrow’s End was smaller than she’d remembered, its crooked buildings huddled against the sea like old friends sharing secrets.…
Mara’s boots crunched over gravel as she climbed the hill, the wind tugging at her jacket like a desperate hand. The lighthouse stood ahead, its white stone weathered to a dull gray, the glass of its dome shattered in places.…
The salt-kissed air bit at Clara’s cheeks as she adjusted the lamp’s wick, its golden glow slicing through the predawn gloom. The lighthouse had been her sanctuary since her father’s death, a place where the roar of the sea drowned…
The salt air bit into Clara’s cheeks as she stepped off the creaking ferry, her boots crunching over gravel. The dock smelled of brine and diesel, the same as it had fifteen years ago when she’d fled. She hadn’t returned…
The salt-kissed air tasted like memory as Clara stepped off the creaking dock, her boots sinking into the damp sand. The harbor smelled of brine and diesel, a scent that clung to her like a second skin. She hadn’t been…
The salt-kissed air tasted of brine and possibility as Mara traced the chipped edge of the map with her thumb. The paper had survived decades in her grandmother’s attic, its ink faded to sepia, but the lighthouse symbol still burned…
The salt air tasted like memory when she first saw him. Maren stood at the edge of the dock, her boots sinking into the wet wood as the tide gnawed at the pilings. The lighthouse beam swept across the bay,…
Mara stood at the edge of the cliff, her boots sinking into the damp sand as the wind tugged at her wool coat. The lighthouse loomed behind her, its skeletal frame silhouetted against the bruised sky. She hadn’t expected company.…
Clara swept the deck of the lighthouse with a practiced motion, her boots scuffing the rusted iron railing. The salt air bit her cheeks, sharp and relentless, as she adjusted the lens of the beacon. It had been six months…