Paradise Beach -

In the center of the beach sat a single, weathered wooden chair.

The locals called it "The Glass Pocket," a crescent of sand so white it looked like powdered salt, tucked away behind a wall of jagged limestone on a nameless island. Paradise Beach

Leo sat. He watched the tide creep in, millimeter by millimeter. As the sun began to dip, the water didn't turn orange or red; it turned a deep, glowing violet. For the first time in years, the constant hum of anxiety in Leo’s chest—the deadlines, the city noise, the grief—simply stopped. In the center of the beach sat a