A SOLITARY FIGURE limped across the stage, a small handlight carving a path through blasted rubble and forgotten things. Her footsteps echoed from unseen walls and a distant ceiling. The air tasted of dust and endings.
The light caught the edge of what was neither dust nor stone.
She crouched, freeing a piece of plas. Turned it over with gloved fingers. Read its message.
“Interesting.”
She folded the piece once, twice, again, before tucking it in a pocket.
Then stood and walked out.
Leaving darkness behind.