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Inside, the unit was a small universe of secondhand lives: books with pages like faces, an overfull kettle, a shelf of devices in sleep. The air tasted like dust and boiled tea. They found Theo on a narrow mattress, awake but distant, hands folded on his chest as if to keep his heart from wandering.
“Node 12 is under the old bridge,” Ari said. “The address should map to Dockside Housing, Archive Unit 4. It’s a six-minute tram.”
One of the engineers studied Ari for a long time, then offered a question that felt like a socket being examined for fit. “You were ported from another frame, right? Did you ever feel incomplete?”
