# The Lighthouse at the End of the Map
## Part One: The Cartographer's Daughter
Eleanor Voss had spent the better part of her thirty-two years drawing borders around things that didn't want to be contained. Mountains, rivers, coastlines — she rendered them all in precise ink on paper, giving them clean edges and confident labels, as if the world were a thing that could be fully known and catalogued. She worked for the National Geographic Survey, out of an office in Portland, Oregon, surrounded by rolled tubes of vellum and the faint smell of drafting ink that had soaked so deeply into the walls that no amount of repainting could erase it.
Her father, Arthur Voss, had been a cartographer before her. His maps hung in the offices of universities and government buildings across the Pacific
