Ext. Outside Diggers Cave — Night

They climb into the van as wind tears at their coats.

Rain pelts sideways.

Blake glances back once.

Then they’re gone, swallowed into the blackening storm.

Ext. Sea Delta — Night

The rain lets up just as they arrive.

Across the bay, between two jagged crags, Stinkwood Island looms—a weather-beaten lighthouse clinging to its seaward side like it’s avoiding eye contact.

Sarah steers the van into a crooked old shed.

Its doors hang off their hinges.

Inside, it’s dry.

Something darts past the open door.

Danny YELPS—then laughs when he sees it’s Drummer, Fleabag’s scruffy dog.

Sarah presses a finger to her lips, then points—go.

Danny leads them around the side of the shed.

A weed-choked trail winds down the slope toward a tunnel mouth.

Danny flicks on a torch.

The passage is narrow, just wide enough for single file.

At the far end, they ascend another slope—steps, worn but holding.

A faded door, paint peeling.

Blake shoulders it a few times.

It gives with a groan revealing narrow spiral steps disappearing upward into shadow.

Int. Lighthouse — Continuous

They climb.

At the top: a broad landing.

Two facing rooms, old, solid.

Blake checks the first—a desk, handmade.

The second—a sheet covers a feather mattress on a wooden bed.

He whips it off, dust flies.

Drummer hops up, circles, plants himself in the center.

Danny slumps down next to him, half-asleep on contact.

Blake reappears holding an oil lamp.

He rummages through the desk drawers—finds matches, a pipe, old photos.

He strikes one.

The lamp flares to life, casting shadows.

Sarah lies down beside Danny.

Blake steps out to the landing, holding the lamp aloft.

After a while, Sarah joins him.

A beat.

Chemistry.

Int. Lighthouse Tower — Moments Later

Blake climbs the steel ladder, pushes open the trapdoor.

He helps Sarah through.

They enter a domed vault built from a kaleidoscope of salvaged glass.

The room glows with moonlight refracted through an intricate hexagonal mosaic.

A leather armchair sits facing the sea.

Blake drops into it.

The moon hits the dome just right—the light blooms around them, casting spectral patterns over the stone.

Blake gazes out.

He spots the dark swirl of Mad Water Delta, a half mile off, churning ominously.

Then—a SHADOW.

The moon disappears behind hurricane clouds.

Wind increases, the glass dome WHINES under the pressure.

Blake douses the lamp.

Rain patters, rhythmic.

Sarah places a hand on his shoulder.

He doesn’t speak.

She turns and climbs quietly back down the ladder.

Int. Lighthouse Bedroom — Night

She returns to Danny, curls beside him.

The storm builds.

Inside: stillness.