The Last Light in the Harbor

By: Kyle Song

The ferry horn echoed across Elliott Bay as the sun dipped below the Seattle skyline, turning the water to molten gold. Nora leaned over the railing, watching the ripples stretch like molten threads, carrying reflections of the skyscrapers behind her. She took this ferry every evening after her shift at the little bookstore on Pike Street, but tonight felt different — heavier somehow, as if the city itself was holding its breath.

The ferry captain, an old man named Ruiz, shuffled past her. “Storm’s coming,” he said, nodding toward the gray horizon. “You can smell it before you see it.”

Nora smiled faintly. “I thought that was just the coffee roasting.”

He chuckled, a low, raspy sound. “Same thing in this town.”

The wind picked up, tugging at her jacket, teasing her hair across her face. Across the water, the lighthouse on Alki Point flickered — once, twice — then went dark. Nora frowned. That light had burned steady since she was a child. Her mother used to tell her that as long as the lighthouse was shining, no one was ever truly lost at sea. But now, the harbor was dark.

The ferry slowed as lightning flashed far off the coast. Passengers grew quiet, murmuring softly. The hum of conversation faded into the rhythmic patter of rain on the metal roof. Nora pressed her palm to the cold window, her fingers tracing foggy streaks.

Then, from the black water, a soft glow rose — not from the lighthouse, but beneath the waves. It shimmered, pale and slow, like the pulse of a heartbeat. Ruiz stared from the wheelhouse, his knuckles white on the wheel. “That’s… not supposed to happen,” he muttered.

Nora’s breath caught. She saw shapes in the glow — the faint outline of ships long gone, their sails made of moonlight. The air smelled of salt and lilacs, of storms past and stories untold.

“Do you see that?” she whispered to a young man nearby, clutching his backpack. He nodded, eyes wide, but said nothing. The light pulsed again, brighter this time, painting the passengers’ faces in an ethereal glow. A quiet hush fell over the ferry, as though the world itself was listening.

And then, just as suddenly as it had come, the glow sank beneath the waves. The ferry rocked once, twice, and the lighthouse beam flickered back to life — steady, strong, unbroken. The passengers exhaled in unison, laughter and nervous chatter returning in bursts.

Nora exhaled, realizing she’d been holding her breath. She didn’t know what she had just seen — a trick of the light, maybe, or something else entirely — but as the ferry reached the dock, she felt lighter, steadier.

Ruiz looked at her from the wheelhouse, eyes twinkling. “Some things aren’t meant to make sense. You just… remember them.”

Nora nodded, glancing back at the dark bay. Somewhere out there, the water rippled once more, like a quiet goodnight, and she thought she heard faint laughter in the waves. She stepped off the ferry and into the rain, feeling as if she had carried a secret of the harbor home with her — a story to tell, or maybe, one to keep.