The coastwatch house sits above the harbour, but the lane to it has vanished beneath a fallen tree. You stand at the fork where a painted sign points uphill and a narrow set of stone steps descends toward the shore. For a moment, the whole island is visible between showers. The lighthouse. The harbour. Mara's cottage with a single lamp burning in its kitchen. There should be comfort in knowing where everything is. Instead, you see how easily one person at the top of the hill could watch the rest. A cargo vessel waits beyond the outer buoy. Its horn reaches you through the rain, low and patient. The name on its hull is the North Star. You remember Mara drawing a star on the back of the tracing paper, so lightly that you thought it was a stain. Behind you, a bicycle bell rings. Mrs Vale has come up from the harbour with a thermos and a warning. The North Star is carrying engineers who will inspect the lighthouse tomorrow. If the ship is damaged tonight, the inspection will be postponed for months. She gives you the thermos without asking what you have discovered. Coastwatch has lost its radio aerial, she says. Someone cut the cable at lunchtime. A replacement is being brought overland, but the roads are flooding. The hill road will give you a view of the ship and the keeper. The old signal tunnel might bring you underneath the tower without being seen. Neither path is safe in weather like this. Both are paths Mara knew.
A missing sister. A falsified signal. One storm to decide what the truth will cost Greyhaven.
Listen closely. Choose carefully. Carry the consequences.
Every path leaves a different story.