A pause. A shaky breath. Then the woman laughed—a small, broken, beautiful sound—and whispered: "That's all I've got, love. Sing it back to me someday."
Click. Silence.
The file's metadata showed it was saved 37 times. Each save had a note: scdv-28011
The names cycled. A chain of strangers passing the song forward as they moved from dying city to dying city, carrying the wafer like a holy relic. The last save, #37, had a final note: "There are 12 of us left in the bunker. We've never heard a song before. We played it for them. They cried. For whoever comes next—don't let it die." A pause
Then a child near the back—barely five years old—began to hum the tune. Imperfectly. Softly. But exactly. Sing it back to me someday