I’ll be honest: my first instinct was protocol . Call someone. Report this. Find the owners.

“Mama,” she whispered. “Someone dropped the moon.”

Underneath, in wobbly kindergarten letters, she’s written:

On the third night, Baby Alien stood up on wobbly legs. It touched Aria’s cheek with those three tiny fingers. Then it pointed up—at the constellation Orion, specifically the faint star near his belt.