Elara’s hand flew to her mouth. The mosaic stabilized into a single, perfect frame: Iliana, mid-gesture, backlit by purple grow-lights, looking directly into a maintenance camera as if she knew— knew —that years later, someone would piece her back together.
She pressed play.
Elara’s throat tightened. She’d never seen this moment. Iliana had never mentioned it. MOSAIC-ARCHIVE-SONE-248.mp4