The crash site was cordoned off by morning. You were there the night before. Something small and strange caught your eye in the dark, warm to the touch despite the cold air. You pocketed it. Forgot about it. That was a mistake. Now you're sitting across from Orla, your best friend, killing time the way you always do - trading jokes and half-baked dares. You say something offhand. A throwaway line. The kind of thing nobody is supposed to answer seriously. She answers it seriously. The object in your pocket hums against your ribs, barely noticeable. But you noticed. And now you can't stop thinking about what you just said - and what it means that she couldn't say anything else.