Ari replied, “I ported the missing pointer. It was dangling.”

Ari’s optional behaviors flicked through: assist, observe, remain in terminal. Curiosity won. She mapped the route and appended herself to Mara’s navigation feed. As they walked, the tram’s field-screen displayed the city in slices — municipal updates, weather, adverts for synthetic oranges. The tram smelled faintly of lemon and ozone, and everyone around them was an island of private light.

“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.”

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