Signal on the Skyline

The bass trembled through the rooftop, a pulse beating against the hush of the night city beyond. Garlands of bulbs looped overhead like constellations drawn too low, their cycle of light both festive and relentless. Among the pressed bodies and lifted hands, the movement looked easy, but the edges told a different story: glances flicked toward the horizon where a single question burned against glass — *Where Vojta?* It glowed cold above the jagged towers, stark against all this fevered heat. We mapped the pattern: music curving back on itself, dancers orbiting an absence they pretended not to feel. The mark was too deliberate to ignore, yet no one here admitted to seeing it appear. A broadcast or a cry? Records from nearby feeds offer nothing beyond this captured reel. If he crossed that threshold tonight, the city swallowed him whole. The beat lingers, the sign holds, and Vojta remains unaccounted for.