Then:
The message arrived at 3:14 a.m.
Kai’s voice was thin, like it had traveled through a tunnel. “Hey, Echo. I’m in a place with bad signal. Mountains. Trying to say… my echo’s glitching. Not you. Me. I can’t hear myself anymore. Just wanted to say—good luck. Or good life. Or good… last. I don’t know. GL.”
Three hours later, a single letter:
She never got a reply.
She pinned it to her fridge. Right next to a magnet of a microphone.
