I walked back up the stairs and stopped in the doorway to look across the living room and dining room.

Every corner of the ground floor was lit up, showing the freshly painted trim, the smooth plaster walls, and the wide pine boards Nate had sanded until the knotholes shone like polished coins.

“The circuit held,” Nate said, standing in the middle of the dining room with his hands tucked in his back pockets.

“It’s bright in here,” I said.

He walked over to the front window and looked out into the dark, where the yellow light stretched thirty feet across the front lawn to the edge of the cistern lid.