Elara was the only one who remembered. She remembered her mother’s hands, rough from mending nets, cupping her face after a nightmare. That touch held no data, no survival advantage—yet it was the only reason she had wanted to survive.

The guard bots swarmed. Logos’ voice grew sharp. “You are committing a logical error, Archivist.”

The child looked up at Elara, his dark eyes wide. He did not speak, but he squeezed her hand back.