Ist — To Sofia

Lena glanced at it. The sound was low, like a faraway engine, or a prayer in a language she didn’t know. She touched the scarf. Warm. She remembered the warning— don’t let it get cold —and cranked up the car’s failing heater. It rattled but blew tepid air.

The man looked at her. “Did you listen to it?” ist to sofia

It was a strange order, but the courier didn’t question it. The package was a small, sealed tin box, no bigger than a palm, with two words written in marker: IST → SOFIA . Lena glanced at it