The moon reflects off the store windows as I carefully creep down the street. I used to enjoy looking up at the moon, thinking about how it watched over everything down here. I used to think maybe it watched with interest, watching over everyone below. Now the moon is just a necessity, and I know that nothing but cold indifference filters down from above.

I continue down the street, using the moon's light to guide me. It's been quiet so far tonight, but that does little to ease my anxiety. People are the most dangerous thing out here. It’s easier to avoid them at night. Still, there’s never a guarantee.

I pass another storefront, this one with its windows smashed in and the door hanging crookedly on only the top hinge. I place my steps carefully, avoiding the broken glass scattered across the ground. I pause at the next store, this one with its door still mostly intact. In fact, a spiderweb of cracks in the front window is the only real damage I can see. I slow my breaths to listen, but the night remains silent. I reach out toward the handle and give it a light push. It’s unlocked. That could be a bad sign. I hesitate and scan the dim interior through the clear glass door, but nothing looks suspicious.

With a slow, steady movement I push the door open and step over the threshold of what used to be a small drug store. I slowly unsheathed my knife with my right hand and pull the flashlight from my back pocket with the other. Despite the full moon, there is little light getting past the front of the shop.

I step over to the sales counter and tap the top with my flashlight once, twice, three times in quick succession. After a full minute of silence, I click my small flashlight on, keeping two fingers over the front to lessen it to just a pinprick of light. With careful steps, I slowly stalk through the rows of shelving.

Stolen novel; please report.

I survey what’s left along the shelves, but there isn’t much— a few single-dose packets of aspirin, some tattered magazines, random knick knacks and cheap toys. I’m halfway to the pharmacy at the back of the store when a rustling noise from near the door brings me to a sudden stop. I drop to a crouch and turn back toward the front as I cover the rest of the flashlight beam and turn it off. I remain still, just listening, and try to breathe slow and quiet. After an agonizing minute and a half, the noise comes again.

There, behind the counter. I make my way carefully back to the counter, my eyes leaving it only in quick glances to make sure I won't step on anything. I pause at the front of the store, knowing that only a human wouldn’t react to the noise I made upon entering. I slowly sheath my knife and reach for my gun instead. The soft snick of the snap as I unholster it sounds incredibly loud to my ears. I ease the gun out and steel myself, my sweaty hand wrapped tight and finger on the trigger guard as I slowly edge toward the counter.

I flick on the flashlight and step to the wall behind the counter in one swift move, raising my gun. But tucked under the counter is the last thing I would have expected.

Sitting there on the floor is a little pink gift bag. Kneeling down, I see the “Happy Birthday” messages written in red all over it. The bag and tissue paper look slightly faded in the bright LED light of the flashlight, but otherwise it seems perfect, just waiting there to be delivered to its intended recipient. A breeze flows through the window where the spider web of cracks converge — and where there’s a sizable chunk of glass missing — and rustles the tissue paper again.

I reach for the bag, meaning to dump it and take anything useful, but stop short. Instead, I pick it up and set it on top of the counter, right by the window. With a sigh, I leave it there and head back to the pharmacy.

Two stores later, as I’m making my way home just before dawn, I glance back and can still see that perfect little bag from the other end of the block.