Elara didn't cut the lights. She walked down the aisle, stood before the flickering beam, and cleared her throat.
She pulled the main power switch. The projector whined to a stop.
"That speech," the woman said, breathless. "I'm a filmmaker. I'm looking for a place to start a micro-cinema. A tiny one. Just a projector and a wall."
"First rule of a perfect ending," Elara said, handing her the keys. "It's never really the end. It's just where the sequel begins."