The island was small—maybe the size of two football fields. But as Leo waded ashore, he saw the impossible: a lighthouse. Not a crumbling ruin, but a freshly painted white and red tower, its light spinning lazily in the afternoon sun.

The boat ride back took one hour but felt like a second. Leo beached The Rusty Mermaid just as dawn bled over the drive-in theater’s screen. He walked home, stepped through the back door, and found his mom at the kitchen table, staring at an old photograph.

Elara nodded. “Then the secret stays with you.”