Raka was photographing the storm from the vessel’s deck when his camera captured an island that didn’t exist.
He didn’t realize it until he looked at the shot on the screen. Between two flashes of lightning, black cliffs rose with a pale lighthouse at their peak. The sea around it seethed with foam, but the island looked calm—as if someone had pasted an image over the world.
“Raka!” Jalu shouted from behind the helm. “If you want to die, don’t do it while standing in the highest place!”
Raka didn’t answer. He zoomed in on the image. Beneath the lighthouse, someone stood facing the camera.
A red jacket. A canvas bag. The way he stood.
Adi.
Three years ago, his younger brother had vanished at sea wearing the same clothes.
The camera screen suddenly went dark. A woman’s whisper came through the radio: “Don’t follow that light.”
In the distance, the lighthouse on the island missing from the map began to shine.