Everything Under the Stars

The Meridian Hill Observatory gift shop closed an hour ago, but you — Adela, the weekend volunteer — forgot your jacket. The security guard let you back in and gone to make his rounds, leaving you alone among the postcards, the star charts, and the soft hum of the display cases. The card on the counter wasn't there when you left. It is a small cream envelope, sealed, and in the corner someone has written: 'For whoever finds this last.' You have nowhere to be. The night is clear.