Sarah froze, her hand gripping the rusted railing. The breathing grew louder - closer - with each passing second. Her flashlight flickered once, twice. She could turn back now, race down to the ground floor, but that would mean leaving the beacon dark. In this storm, with three ships expected before dawn, a dark beacon meant certain disaster.

Another step creaked overhead.

She raised her flashlight toward the landing above, its beam growing weaker by the second. That's when she saw it - a shadow moving against the darkness, and in its hand, something gleaming...

The flashlight died.