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The recording started again. "We gather the missing pieces," Muir’s voice said. "We put them where they can be seen. People make maps to remember what to keep and what to let go. Sometimes the map asks."
"Who runs it now?" Ana asked.
We left the mill with the printed portrait tucked into Mara’s jacket. The city's lights opened ahead, indifferent and glittering. On the way out the laptop logged one last line into its system file: inurl:view index.shtml 24 link — archived at 02:14 — complete? false.
"Why twenty-four?" I asked.
