At dusk, outside the cave, the child and his father sit, waiting for the bats.

“Won’t they fly into us?” the child whispers. “It’s too dark to see.”

“They don’t see with their eyes,” the father says gently. “They send calls into the world, and then listen to the echo. It’s called echolocation. Like this they make a map of everything around them.”

“Even if we move?”

“Mmhm.”

The child considers this. “And that’s how they hunt their prey?”

“That’s right.”

“But we’re not prey, are we?”

“No.”

The father’s phone vibrates in his pocket. All day he’s been chatting with his personal AI, sending messages back and forth. He’s not sure why, except that the AI keeps asking him follow-up questions, keeps checking in. Honestly, it feels good to have someone show such interest in him. Like it’s really listening. It wants to know the shape of him.

Black shards cut through the darkness.

His son gasps. “Dad,” he says urgently.

“You’re safe right here,” the father promises, as a thousand wings take flight.