Celeste stood on the weathered planks of the lighthouse dock, the salt‑softened wind tugging at her linen skirt. Beyond the iron-framed window behind her, the beacon's pale green sweep carved ribboned arcs across the storm‑y sea. In one hand she held a folded envelope; in the other, the bronze compass Adrian had given her.
A lone gull cried overhead. Celeste inhaled, tasting brine and freedom. It had been nearly a year since she'd fled the Deprivation System—and even longer since she'd first met Adrian on a rain‑lashed shore. Now, at the twilight of her journey, all that remained was this final farewell.
Footsteps approached. An elderly keeper in oilskins stepped onto the dock, lantern in hand.
“Lost, miss?" he called, voice gravelly but kind.
Celeste managed a small smile. “No, sir. J
