Sally grew up in a lighthouse keeper's cottage, watching ships navigate the coastal waters her family has protected for generations. Her striped trousers come from her mother's loom, woven with the patience of someone who understands that the best things can't be rushed. She pairs them with her burgundy sailor top—a color she chose to match the old maritime signal flags that still fly from the harbor master's office.

She learned semaphore before she learned to write, and can still signal messages across the bay with two red flags. Now she keeps the harbor log, recording weather patterns and tide schedules, but also collecting tales from the old fishermen who remember when the harbor was just a few wooden docks. Her white bow was tied by her father the day she took her oath as assistant harbor master—the youngest in the state's history.

Sally believes that tradition and progress can dance together like boats on the waves. She modernized the lighthouse with solar panels but still winds the clockwork fog signal by hand. In her careful way, she bridges the old maritime ways with the new, ensuring that some things—like the beacon that guides boats home through fog—never change, even as everything else does.