And beneath it, a letter addressed to her.
“You came,” Margot whispered.
Panic is a slow poison. It started as a prickle on her neck, then became a full-body vigilance. She began speaking aloud, narrating her actions, challenging the silence. alina lopez
Alina didn’t sleep that night. She sat in the center of the room, a kerosene lamp burning, and stared at the shadows. She reviewed every detail of the lighthouse’s history. Built in 1865. A single keeper until 1923. Then automated. Then decommissioned. No record of death, violence, or tragedy. And beneath it, a letter addressed to her
“I’m making tea,” she announced. “Earl Grey. The tin is on the counter. If you’re real, rattle the spoons.” It started as a prickle on her neck,
Alina’s breath caught. The night before, she had indeed moved a copy of Darwin from the north shelf to the east, to better fit her organizational flow. No one had been there to see it.
