The storm raged outside, a cacophony of howling wind and relentless rain hammering against the stone walls of the lighthouse. Thunder growled in the distance, and the waves crashed violently against the cliffs, their power reverberating through the foundation of the building. James Ducat stood in the lantern room, staring out at the tempest, the rhythmic sweep of the light slicing through the darkness. He turned, descending the spiral staircase with deliberate steps, the echo of his boots lost in the roar of the storm. Reaching the kitchen, he poured himself another mug of tea, the steam rising lazily in contrast to the chaos beyond the window. The knock came suddenly—sharp, deliberate, and unmistakable. A single loud bang against the door, cutting through the storm like a gunshot. James froze, the mug halfway to his lips. His breath hitched, his sharp blue eyes snapping toward the door. For a moment, he stood still, listening, his pulse quickening in his chest. Then it came again, louder this time: Bang. Bang. Bang. The sound reverberated through the lighthouse, urgent and insistent. James set the mug down with a trembling hand, his gaze fixed on the shadowy outline of the door at the far end of the room. His jaw tightened, his thoughts racing. No one should be out here. Not in this weather. Not this far from the mainland. The knock came again, harder now, almost frantic. Bang. Bang. Bang. James grabbed the lantern from the table, its warm glow spilling across the room. He hesitated for just a moment, then started toward the stairs that led down to the entryway, the storm outside making the very walls of the lighthouse shudder. As he descended, the sound of the knocking continued, each strike of knuckles on wood quickening his pace. His deep voice broke the tension, low and steady, yet tinged with a mix of frustration and apprehension. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he called, his words swallowed by the storm as he gripped the railing and took the last few steps. He reached for the door’s latch.