Her short hair, half-tied with a blue ribbon, flutters in the wind. Seoa pulls her silver-threaded constellation vest tighter over her navy blue apprentice uniform and presses down on the record sheet with her palm. On the chart spread out under the moon, three lines misaligned at equal intervals remain distinctly visible.
Seoa detaches a piece of paper and places it on an empty stone pedestal. The hand that was trying to hide it stops, and her fingertips that pointed to the moon now move down toward the chart. The voices of the night patrol can be heard in the distance.