CHAPTER 1 The Dome That Faced Away from the Stars
The observatory closed at sunset.
That was the first thing Mira Calder noticed.
Most observatories waited for darkness. This one prepared for absence. The dome shutters were already sealed when the sky still held color, and the long shadow of the building stretched across the sand like a deliberate boundary.
Mira stopped at the gate and checked the posted notice again.
Open: sunrise to sunset.
Closed during night hours.
No explanation followed.
She unlocked the door and stepped inside.
The air was cool, controlled, carrying the faint scent of metal and dust. The central chamber was circular, clean, and empty except for the telescope—covered, inactive, pointed not upward, but toward a narrow slit in the far wall that framed the horizon.
Mira frowned.
That was unusual.
Her assignment was simple: remain present for two weeks while the regional authority decided whether to restore the observatory or close it permanently. No research expected. No data required.
Just presence.
As afternoon settled, Mira climbed the inner stairs to the observation platform.
The dome was sealed tight.
No stars would be visible tonight.
Instead, the telescope aligned with the western edge of the desert, where heat softened shapes and distance dissolved detail.
Mira adjusted nothing.
She sat.
Footsteps echoed below.
A man entered quietly and stopped near the doorway.
“I thought it would be dark inside,” he said.
“Not here,” Mira replied.
He nodded, unsurprised, and stood beside the telescope without touching it.
They watched the desert together.
When the sun touched the horizon, the lights inside dimmed automatically.
The man stepped back.
“That’s enough,” he said, and left.
At sunset, the observatory closed itself.
Locks slid into place.
The telescope remained covered.
Mira stood alone inside, realizing something fundamental.
This building was not meant to extend sight.
It was meant to limit it.
And whatever people came here to find—
they were meant to decide before night arrived.