You find Manny in the half-light, laid out beneath a torn tarp. Subdermal lines dimly glow, breathing in and out like sleeping embers. His guitar leans nearby, strings slack, wood scorched with glyph scars.
“Manny,” you whisper. “Wake up. The signal saw me.”
His eyelids flutter. Not his voice that answers, but something through him — the world, trying on his mouth.
