The rain in Bandung always smelled like wet earth and motorcycle exhaust. Mira wiped the condensation from the inside of her dorm window and watched the streetlights smear into orange streaks across the glass. It was almost midnight. The power had flickered twice already, and the campus Wi-Fi was dead again. She should have been asleep. Instead she sat on the edge of her narrow bed with the small wooden box open on her lap.
The box had arrived that afternoon in a plain brown package with no return address. Inside, nestled in faded red silk, was a circular bronze seal the size of her palm. The surface was covered in fine, interlocking lines that looked almost like script, but not any language she recognized. When she first touched it, a faint warmth had pulsed against her skin, like a heartbeat that didn't belong to her.
