Chapter 13: The Gap Where a Name Should Be

That nameless letter had been lodged in the wind's throat all these years.

Because it had no recipient, the wind could not deliver it; because it could not be delivered, every letter passing through the lighthouse had begun to drift off course. The old man had believed his whole life that he was helping others let go. In truth, his own cowardice had become the knot in the bay.

Chaoyin did not accuse him. She only asked, "If the name is restored, will my father's letter arrive?"

"Perhaps," the old man said. "But it means admitting whom I was afraid to write to."