The salty tang of dawn drifted through the open window of Mila Chen's small coastal apartment in Porto. Four years had passed since she fled the Thorne estate, yet every morning she woke to the same tight knot of tension in her chest.
“Mommy!"
A tiny hand shook her shoulder. Lucas, now a bright-eyed four-year-old with storm-grey irises, grinned as the first rays of sunlight splintered across his bedroom wall.
“Good morning, my little navigator." Mila yawned, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She scooped him up into her arms. “Did you sleep well?"
Lucas nodded, hair mussed. “I dreamed of the lighthouse again."
Mila tucked him under one arm and pulled on a worn cardigan, the faded denim dress beneath well past its prime. “One day, we'll visit a real lighthouse." She planted a kiss on his
