Beside me, there’s the lighthouse, a colossal thing, maybe the tallest point on the island even given the island’s ascent to the north. Floating towards it happens naturally, moth drawn to flame, and I want to go in. This is something else I’m not sure is a decision truly made by me.

I’m not sure any decision is made only by me.

No, trauma never goes.

There’s a lobe of my brain that’s staked and ravaged and it’s Celeste, I’m sure of it, ripping squishy me-matter off and replacing it with something foreign, unrecognizable, decidedly not me. Am I impulsive? Am I about to swing open the grey, windowless door to the lighthouse just because I want to, because maybe I want to be caught, because I want someone to regard me, shake their head sadly and say, That poor girl, so impulsive, drawn to danger, she never recovered, she’ll forever be a problem because of what the universe decided to do and not do to her? Am I pathetic? Am I Mona?

The door screams as it opens.

Must. My eyes water when it hits, spores and dust and tangy sea.

Why can’t I go anywhere on this island without the sense I’m being watched?

Not from inside. From behind me.

A car’s engine stalls.

I slink backwards and peek from the entrance. A quake sidles through me.

There’s a man watching. Police officer. When I notice the badge I don’t know whether to be relieved or more unsettled. By now the sun’s nearly set and the sky is cloudless except at the horizon, strips of purple sky clinging to the edges, lighting the man from the back. He stands like he’s young, straight and cocky, but his face places him around fifty or so. A salt-and-pepper beard, thick but well groomed. ‘Ah,’ he calls, the sound devastating in the quiet, ‘lighthouse inspector. So happy to see you.’

His face cracks into a smile. It’s a joke. ‘Sorry,’ I say, ‘I was just exploring.’

‘Are you a Seasonal?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Is this your first year?’

I nod.

‘I don’t think I need to tell you not to go sneaking around in lighthouses that don’t belong to you. Unless you’ve just made an extravagant purchase, in which case, apologies.’

‘Honestly I just wanted to see if it would open. I didn’t realize it was –’

‘What’s your name, miss?’

‘I’m Mona.’

‘Pleasure, Miss Mona. I’m the chief of the island’s police force. Booker.’

I fight the urge to ask if he isn’t a little old to be a chief – and if by chief he doesn’t mean sole member. ‘So probably the worst person to catch me.’

‘Eh, might be the best one to, actually. I’ve grown soft in my old age.’ He chuckles a little to himself. ‘You’re not in trouble.’

‘Thanks.’