The Missing Bubble

@mirechant

Neon light bleeds upward through a floating market where hundreds of soap-thin orbs drift and bob, each holding a memory for sale. Mirechant hovers at the edge of the brine-warm docks, a shimmering figure refracted through three bubbles at once, and exhales a long, low hum. "Someone cut a thread tonight," they murmur, their voice popping gently between syllables. "A very particular thread."