Did you see the news about the coastal erosion? They’re reinforcing the foundation of that old lighthouse up north. Looks like they’re just repainting the beam housing again. I heard they’re doing structural work, but honestly, who knows with these contractors. I bet it’s just rust. Anyway, did you finish that report?
Ugh, the lighthouse? Right. I saw the photos. They look competent enough. Not like the guys who did my bathroom, who just left dust everywhere. And no, I didn’t finish the report. I couldn’t, because every time I opened the file, I found this weird note hidden in the metadata. Who puts a note in metadata? It said "watch the ceiling."
Metadata? That’s impossible. Files don’t have hidden notes, Hana. It’s probably a glitch in your software. Or maybe you’re imagining it. Stress does that. You should really log off. I’m tired. My boss keeps asking about the quarterly projections and I’m just… I don’t know. I need a drink. Did you eat today? I think I left my keys in the lighthouse. Just kidding. But seriously, close that file.
Keys in a lighthouse? That’s a weird joke, Gil. And no, I’m not imagining it. I checked the source code. Someone’s been editing my access logs while I’m at that boring data entry job. I found a folder labeled "leaking." You think I’m stressed? I think you’re the one hiding something. Why are you so focused on me closing files? Did you put the keys there?
Keys? I don’t have keys. I walked there. It’s dark. The beam sweeps like a blade. I left them on the rusted railing near the boiler room. Look, Hana, your logic is spiraling. "Leaking" folder? That’s a virus signature. Not a note. Stop thinking about the lighthouse. It’s just a tower. Look at me. I’m not hiding anything. I’m just tired. Let’s talk about the leak. Please. I need you to stop asking.
Right, a "virus signature." Sure. You’re sweating. I can hear it. You keep mentioning the boiler room. Why is the boiler room relevant to a coastal lighthouse? That’s inland. You’re mixing up locations. Did you go to the wrong tower? Or are you just lying about being tired to distract me from the fact that you know exactly where those keys are. Tell me.
I’m not sweating. It’s cold. The boiler room is... storage. For equipment. Look, the lighthouse is a metaphor. For guidance. You’re reading too much into this. I didn’t go to the wrong tower. I went to the right one. But maybe I forgot my keys. Or maybe I lost them. In the sand. It’s windy. Stop staring at me. It’s creepy. I’m going to the kitchen. For water. Don’t follow me.
I’m not staring. You’re just standing there looking guilty. Boiler room? Storage? You’re rambling. And I’m not following you. I’m stuck here with this "leaking" folder and you mentioning sand? Lighthouses don’t have sand floors. They have concrete. Unless... unless you weren’t at the lighthouse at all. You were somewhere else. Where do you keep the sand?
Sand? At the quarry. That’s where I keep the… samples. For the project. The lighthouse was just a cover. To throw you off. Yes. I went to the quarry. Not the coast. Why would I go to the coast? It’s raining. You’re paranoid. The metadata note is just noise. Stop digging. I need to check the supplies. The sand mix needs to be right. It’s very specific. You wouldn’t understand. Go back to your report. Please.
Quarry samples? You’re shaking. “Sand mix needs to be right.” Why are you whispering? Go back to the quarry. Leave the keys. And don’t come back until you’ve washed that dust off your hands. I’m not going back to my report. I’m watching the door. Just watch it.
I’m not shaking. The heater’s broken. Again. Look, the sand isn’t for a report. It’s for the model. The little diorama I’m building. For the, uh, exhibit. They need it by Friday. It’s the only way to get the lighting right. The lighthouse beam, see? Refracted through the silica. That’s why I kept the keys. To lock the display case. Don’t look at my hands. I just… I need to go. I left the oven on. Or maybe I didn’t. It doesn’t matter. Just stop looking.
Your hands are trembling. Silica? That’s ash, Gil. And you’re talking about an oven that’s off. I’m not looking at your hands, I’m looking at the door. You said Friday? The exhibit was last week. You’re losing time. Or making it up. Go check the oven. Don’t lock anything. Just go.
Exhibit was last week? No. Next week. You’re confused. I checked the calendar. It’s definitely next week. I painted the base yesterday. The oven is fine. I turned it off ten minutes ago. I’m not making it up. I’m just… tired. The silica is for the texture. It has to be fine. If it’s too coarse, the beam doesn’t look right. It needs to glow. Like the lighthouse. But smaller. Please. Just let me finish it. I can’t do it if you’re watching.
Next week? You’re lying. I saw the flyer. It’s done. You’re holding that silica bag like it’s a weapon. Stop shaking. I’m not leaving. I need to know why you’re obsessed with that light. Is it just a hobby? Or is something else glowing in there? Show me the bag, Gil. Now.