Sol showed Mara a logbook. Every night for two years she had written the time of each flash. But the last three pages were not in her writing. Someone else had been writing entries on the nights Sol stayed home sick. They followed muddy footprints to a hidden room and found an old fisherman who had quietly covered for Sol. 'A ship nearly wrecked here once,' he said. 'I never let this light go dark.' Sol smiled. She wasn't the only keeper after all.