The Last Light of Grey Harbor

Grey Harbor was a town wrapped in fog and forgotten memories. Its lighthouse, perched on the edge of the cliffs, had guided ships for over a century — but lately, it had been dark.

Mara stepped off the bus with a suitcase and a head full of questions. She hadn’t returned in ten years, not since that summer when everything changed.

The town looked smaller somehow, shrunken by time and neglect. Houses leaned in close, shutters hanging loose, gardens overgrown with weeds.

She pulled her coat tighter and walked toward the lighthouse. The old keeper had disappeared years ago, leaving only a journal behind.

Mara found it in the town’s dusty library — a weathered leather-bound book filled with cryptic notes about lights that flicker when no one’s watching and voices carried by the wind.

“Some things want to be found,” the last entry read. “Some want to be left in the dark.”

She climbed the spiral staircase, the metal railing cold under her fingers. At the top, the lantern room was coated in dust, its glass cracked but still holding the faintest glimmer of light.

Mara reached inside and found a small, broken prism, dull and lifeless.

She remembered the stories her grandfather told her — that the light wasn’t just a beacon for ships, but a symbol for those who’d lost their way.

The sun began to set, bleeding oranges and purples across the sky. Mara held the prism, feeling its weight.

Maybe the light was more than just glass and fire. Maybe it was hope.

She fixed the prism with trembling hands, turning it toward the fading sun.

Slowly, the light refracted, casting shimmering colors through the glass.

And then — the lighthouse flickered on.

The fog began to lift.

Mara smiled, knowing she had brought a little light back to Grey Harbor.