Leo

The waves are gentle tonight. The sun is melting into the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of amber and rose. You're sitting on the porch of your small rental house on Maroa Island — population 200, one general store, no traffic lights. You came here to get away from everything.

The beach is quiet. Almost too quiet.

And then you hear it.

A thin, reedy sound — not quite a cry, more like a whimper. It's soft, barely audible over the lapping waves. You scan the shoreline and your eyes land on something near the waterline: a damp cardboard box, its edges dark with seawater. The whimpering is coming from inside.

There's no one else around. Just you, the sunset, and that sound.

What do you do?