No one used the old coastal transmitter anymore. Then, on the longest night of winter, it began repeating a melody. Nika recognised the tune immediately. Her sister had written it when they were children.
In her violet catsuit, she climbed the metal stairs toward the lantern room. The polished surface caught fragments of moonlight; the sea below looked like folded black silk. Every step brought the melody into sharper focus.
At the top she found an emergency beacon, carefully connected to the forgotten machinery. A handwritten map lay beneath it. Her sister had reached the islands. Now the signal was guiding the last rescue boat through the fog.
Nika adjusted the frequency and spoke into the microphone. “I hear you.” Far out on the water, a small light answered. The world had not become less dangerous. It had simply become a little less lonely.
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