This audiobook is narrated by a digital voice.

The October wind howled across the rocky coastline as Thomas Hartwell climbed the narrow path toward Beacon Point Lighthouse. His weathered hands gripped the iron railing that guided visitors up the treacherous cliffside, while salt spray from the churning Atlantic below stung his weathered face. At sixty-two, Thomas had spent most of his life on the water, first as a merchant sailor and later as a harbor master in Portland. But lighthouse keeping was new territory, even for a man who had dedicated his life to maritime service.

The lighthouse rose before him like a white sentinel against the grey October sky, its beacon dark in the afternoon gloom. The previous keeper, Edmund Crowley, had departed rather suddenly according to the lighthouse commission, leaving only a hastily scrawled note about "family emergencies" and an urgent need to return to Boston. The commission had been grateful when Thomas responded to their advertisement, especially given his maritime experience and willingness to take the position with such short notice.

As Thomas reached the lighthouse door, he noticed the brass nameplate still bore Crowley's name. The heavy oak door creaked as he pushed it open, revealing a circular room with stone walls and a winding iron staircase that spiraled upward into shadows. The air inside felt thick and cold, carrying the scent of brine, old wood, and something else he couldn't quite identify—something that reminded him of the deep holds of ships that had been sealed too long.