From the rooftop above the laundromat, Priya knew the night sky cold. So she spotted it at once: a tiny blue dot inside Cassiopeia's crooked W, sitting where nothing should be. She checked her star atlas twice, then three different apps. The dot was real to her eyes and to her phone, but it wasn't on any map. Her hands went cold. New stars don't just show up overnight.

Priya decided to stop guessing and just watch it all night. She set her phone to snap a photo every ten minutes. A satellite or plane would streak away fast. A real star would drift slowly with the rest of the sky. She wrapped up in a blanket and waited to see which one it was.

Around midnight the dot did something no star could. It slid sideways, stopped, then drifted back into place, like someone nudging it by hand. Priya's photos caught all of it. She didn't know what it was, but she knew it wasn't natural and it wasn't an accident. Someone was steering it, and she meant to find out who.

Priya waited on the roof for the steerer to appear, but no one came. At midnight her phone buzzed with one text from an unknown number: "Look up." The blue dot was back, pulsing one last word in Morse: G-O-O-D-B-Y-E. Then it faded for good. She never learned who'd been watching, but the sky felt a little less lonely now.