Mara stepped off the bus, her boots crunching on gravel as the salt-tinged wind tugged at her coat. The town of Seabrook stretched before her, its weathered cottages huddled like secrets against the cliffs. She hadn’t set foot here since the night her sister vanished, seven years ago. The air smelled of brine and decay, the same as it had that final morning. Her father’s voice echoed in her mind: *Don’t go near the lighthouse.* But the lighthouse was all she had left.
The dock creaked under her weight as she approached the water’s edge. Waves lapped the pilings, their rhythm steady, almost hypnotic. She remembered the last time she’d heard that sound—Lila’s laughter, sharp and bright, mingling with the gulls. Now, the only noise was the groan of the hulls and the whisper of wind through rigging. She traced the scar on her palm, a relic from the night Lila disappeared. It had never fully healed.
“You shouldn’t be here,” a voice said. Mara turned. A boy stood at the edge of the dock, his dark hair plastered by the sea. His eyes were the color of storm clouds, unreadable. “Who are you?” she asked. “Jace,” he said. “You’re the one who left.” She didn’t correct him. The truth was a weight she carried everywhere.
The next morning, Mara found the journal beneath the floorboard of her childhood room. Pages yellowed with time, ink smudged by saltwater. Lila’s handwriting: *The light isn’t broken. It’s waiting.* Mara’s breath hitched. The lighthouse had been dark for years, its beam abandoned after the accident. But what if it wasn’t broken? What if someone had kept it alive?
She climbed the spiral stairs, each step creaking like a warning. At the top, the lens gleamed, unblemished. A note lay on the control panel: *They’re coming for you.* Her hands shook. The lighthouse wasn’t just a ruin—it was a trap. And she’d walked straight into it.
Jace found her there, staring at the sea. “You don’t understand,” he said. “The light isn’t a signal. It’s a promise.” Mara turned, her voice sharp. “What kind of promise?” He hesitated, then stepped closer. “The kind that takes people.” The words hung between them, heavy as the storm brewing on the horizon.
That night, the lighthouse flared to life. Mara watched, frozen, as the beam swept across the water, carving a path toward the dark. A boat emerged, its hull slick with rain. She recognized the silhouette—her father’s coat. “He’s not what you think,” Jace said. “He’s trying to save her.” But Lila was gone. Or was she? The beam pulsed, and Mara saw a figure on the shore, waving. A hand, pale and trembling, rising from the waves.
The tide pulled at her boots as she ran, the wind screaming in her ears. The lighthouse doors slammed behind her. “Wait!” Jace’s voice was lost in the storm. She didn’t stop until the cliffs dropped away, the sea roaring beneath her. And there, on the beach, stood Lila—drenched, breathless, alive. “You came back,” she whispered. Mara’s tears mingled with the rain. “I never stopped.” The waves crashed, a chorus of relief and reckoning. The lighthouse blinked once more, then went dark, its secret buried in the sand.
In the weeks that followed, Mara walked the shore each morning, searching for answers. The town whispered of ghosts, of lights that danced on the water. But she knew the truth: some secrets weren’t meant to be kept. Some were meant to be released. And as the sun rose over Seabrook, its golden light spilling across the waves, Mara felt the weight lift—not gone, but shared.
