Months later, Evelyn stood at the edge of a river and watched the city reclaim what the modules had nudged. There were lives altered—marriages that had found new language, friendships that had dissolved under revealed truth, words that had returned from ancient grammar. There were scars too: a man had amplified his suspicion into ostracism; a quiet town had experienced a rash of sleep disturbances. The modules had not been evil nor benevolent. They were a lens.

Evelyn's badge felt suddenly heavy. She told Morales what she knew, only the parts that fit on an official form. He listened and then slid a cup of coffee toward her as if to anchor her. "Keep this to yourself," he said. "Or they'll close it. Or change it. You'll get named, and the Collective will vanish into system noise."