The salt air bit into Lila’s cheeks as she traced the rusted hinges of the abandoned lighthouse, its silhouette jagged against the storm-churned sky. She’d found the key last week—dangling from a frayed leather cord beneath a loose floorboard in her grandmother’s attic—but it wasn’t until now, with the wind howling like a wounded animal, that she felt the pull. The door groaned as she pushed, releasing a scent of mildew and forgotten time. Inside, the spiral staircase twisted upward, each step creaking like a warning. She paused at the top, breath fogging the glass of the observation deck. Below, the sea thrashed against the cliffs, waves crashing in rhythmic fury. A flicker of movement caught her eye—a shape darting between the rocks. Lila’s pulse quickened. She’d told no one about the journal, the one she’d discovered two nights prior, its pages filled with cryptic sketches of this very place. The ink had bled through the paper, smudged by rain or tears. One entry stood out: *The tide remembers what the land forgets.* She reached into her backpack, fingers closing around the journal’s worn leather cover. A sudden gust slammed the door shut behind her. The lighthouse trembled. Somewhere below, a bell began to toll.
