Ernie the Electrician crouched in a dark cottage kitchen, and he could not find the fault. The whole town had lost power three nights ago. No storm, no warning. Ernie had promised to rewire every home and bring the lights back. But he could not start. His meter read dead at every outlet. His hands, in the white shirt with his name stitched on the chest, moved over cold wires that told him nothing. He tugged his red hat lower and swore. You cannot fix a house until you find where the break begins. And every house he tested pointed him nowhere. He packed his tools and walked to the only place still lit by candles. The diner stood at the corner, its striped awning gray in the dark. Inside, a waitress moved between tables with a coffee pot, though the machine was dead. She wore a green dress and a white apron. Her red hair was pinned high. She caught Ernie at the door. "You're the wire man," she said. "Everybody's asking when the lights come back. I told them nobody knows a thing." She set the pot down and studied him. "But I know things. Ask anyone." Ernie sat. He had no time for gossip. "I need the source of the blackout. Where it started. Otherwise I'm useless." Dolores Finch leaned on the counter. Her eyes lit like she'd been waiting all week for the question. "Three nights back, I was closing up. Saw a flash out the window. Not lightning. Down by the old cottage with the flower boxes, past the fence." She wiped her hands. "Sparks. Loud pop. Then every light on the street died at once. I watched it happen." Ernie set down his cup. One flash. One spot. Not a town-wide failure. A single point. "Which cottage?" he asked. "The pretty one. Fenced yard. You can't miss it." She smiled, pleased with herself. "Told you I know things." Ernie grabbed his tools and ran. The cottage sat quiet behind its little fence, flower boxes drooping under the windows. He followed the wall to the meter box on the side. His meter jumped the moment he touched it. Live. Angry. He pried the cover loose. Inside, the main line was fused black. The metal had melted and welded shut. This box fed the whole street through a shared junction. When it blew, it dragged every house down with it. Here was his source. Here was where the break began. Ernie exhaled. At last, a place to start. Then he shone his light deeper into the box. Behind the melted line sat a small dark stone, wedged against the copper. It was not part of any wiring. Smooth, black, cold. He had never seen anything like it in twenty years of work. He reached for it, and his meter needle slammed hard against the pin, though he had touched nothing. Ernie's hand stopped in the air. This was no ordinary blackout.