The townspeople raised their lanterns, forming a circle of light that stretched across the harbor. The old dock, once a symbol of oppression, was now a ruin, a reminder of the past that would never return.
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Sloan climbed the spiral staircase, each step echoing like a heartbeat. She reached the lantern room, lifted the heavy glass dome, and set the key into a hidden compartment beneath the Fresnel lens. The key clicked, and a faint hum filled the air—a resonance that seemed to vibrate through the stone walls, through her bones. However, I want to ensure that the content
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Sloan stared at the notebook, the words rearranging themselves in her mind. “A trap… for whom?”