THE STARDUST MESSENGER
I The signal came at 3:17 AM on a Tuesday in October, and Henry Whitfield was not supposed to be awake. He had taken a sleeping pill—two, actually—because the insomnia had been worse since Daisy left. But the lighthouse had a habit of waking him at precisely the moment his equipment detected something interesting, as if the building itself knew. The signal was faint, buried in the static...
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