The Watchman's Burden
The storm came in on a Tuesday, which was the first wrong thing about it. Storms don't ask permission. They arrive unannounced and tear everything apart, and that's that. But this one arrived with a pattern—three short flashes from the horizon, three long ones, three shorts again. Like someone was trying to talk to me from out there. The light at Flamborough Head hadn't changed in three...
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