The lobby screen tried to blue while counsel drew breath.
Security's head tipped toward the phone. Elias did not move anything but his eyes.
"Bezel," Ava said.
"Cut," Elias said. "Lobby band down."
"Source," she said.
"CFO floor console," he said. "Blocking now."
Sofia had the line already written. "Kill posted at thirteen oh five," she read. "Bezel then source. Origin CFO floor console. Names credited."
Security repeated it into the receiver so the sentence could exist twice, once as sound, once as paper. The phone answered with the quiet confidence of Comms doing exactly what was promised.
The CFO watched the legal pad as if numbers owed him courtesy. "Internal tests are not malice," he said.
"They are paths," Ava said. "We block paths."
Counsel lifted the rider page an inch so everyone would remember it existed. "Rider acceptable," he said. "Condition tied to the ledger at eighteen hundred, pin remains live."
Vivian's aide stepped to the seam with a slim metal rectangle and a signed slip. "Chair authorizes Ms. Anton to carry her tablet for field operations," she said. "Comms mirror remains under Chair direction."
Sofia accepted both like tools instead of symbols. The tablet woke without a sound. The signed slip slid into the back of the case where it could be seen if challenged.
"Route," Ava said.
Sofia opened the field map. "Ivy Square at fourteen oh oh," she said. "We go now. Speaker at the door. Consent on record."
Security nodded to his runner. "Car at south lane," he said. "Door controlled."
Counsel half turned. "Mr. Sterling, threshold," he said into the room.
Noah reached the line and stopped exactly where thresholds live. He did not look at the CFO. He did not look at the letter. He looked at Ava's left shoulder and then at the block letters on the pad.
"Instruction," he said.
"Name the count," she said.
"Five receipts," he said. "Footer four hundred and ninety."
"Name the next," she said.
"Ivy Square at fourteen oh oh," he said. "Speaker call. Duplicate ID."
She touched the top corner of the pad. He nodded once and went back inside because the rule asked him to.
"Walk," Ava said.
The corridor adjusted to let them pass without pretending to like it. Elias fell in with the runner two paces behind, Systems badge tucked where sight and trust meet. The CFO stayed where he was and let his smile move a millimeter.
They hit the elevator with security in front, Sofia at Ava's shoulder, tablet angled, slip visible. The doors closed. The city waited between floors.
"Pin line," Sofia said quietly. "We are moving to Ivy Square for the fourteen oh oh call. Speaker at the door. Consent on record."
"Add 'map is boring,'" Ava said. "We do not post clever."
"Added," Sofia said.
The doors opened to lobby light. Panels showed the contact slide and a small Orchard photo inset where a logo had tried to live earlier. The blue was gone. The air had the tired sweetness of a room that had almost learned a bad habit and been corrected.
Press raised mics, then lowered them when they saw the path had already been spoken for. Security made space with open palms. The small maintenance speaker Foster had clipped under the hall table had a twin in Sofia's bag now, labeled as if order itself were a colleague.
A woman in a denim jacket called from the rope. "Is the pin still live," she said.
"Yes," Ava said. "By Chair direction."
They stepped into winter. The car door opened. Ava slid across; Sofia followed, then Elias and the runner. Security shut the door. The city entered by glass and map.
"Post route," Ava said.
Sofia drew a short rectangle on the tablet that ignored the idea of scenic and respected the idea of time. "South to Ivy," she said. "Stop at the door. Take the call on speaker with both parties present. Post the steps as they happen."
"Add a box at the bottom," Ava said. "Empty, labeled '10' to teach the eye."
"Already on the pin," Sofia said. "Comms framed it."
The driver found a green that had waited for them again. The van with a camera did not cut them off because security had asked it not to five minutes ago with a tone that had learned diplomacy from sidewalks.
A horn tried to be a sentence and failed. The car moved anyway. The block ahead climbed into view, low industrial brick with a row of roll-ups and a door painted a stubborn blue.
"Tablet stays visible," Sofia said. "Consent slips printed if needed. We redact names before mirrors."
"Speaker," Ava said.
Sofia palmed the small unit, thumbed it on, and let it sit on her knee where microphones could imagine they were invited but did not need to be.
"Systems," Ava said.
Elias had his headset without the look of a person who loves gadgets. He had the look of a person who trusts cables if cables behave. "Console stands ready," he said. "If a band appears anywhere on our path, we cut and post the cut."
"Good," Ava said.
The runner checked the clipboard that had traveled too many floors to look important and had become important by refusing to show off. "Ivy Square consent question sheet," he said. "Time boxes blank. Pens."
"Your name," Ava said without looking up from the map.
"Tariq," he said.
"Thank you, Tariq," she said.
He swallowed the thanks the way runners do when breath is the resource they care about.
"Time," Sofia said.
"Thirteen twelve," security said from the front. The dashboard clock agreed. The city agreed.
"Post a change," Ava said.
Sofia added a line under Ivy Square. "Both sellers have consented to on-record speaker at fourteen oh oh," she read. "We will not post personal names. We will post steps and times."
A text slid across the tablet from Comms. Sofia spoke it without drama. "Investor forums are quoting 'By six, on the pin' and 'we kill the screen' without adjectives," she said. "No freeze requests."
"Keep it off the pin," Ava said. "Air only."
The car slowed where the lane bent around a truck that had stopped to consider its life. A cyclist looked at his phone, then at his front wheel, then at them. He did not drift into their path. It felt like a favor.
Ava looked sideways at Sofia's hands. The tablet stayed level. The letters on the slip in the case looked like a small permission that did not want to be a badge.
"Write the line the street needs to see at fourteen," Ava said.
Sofia poised the stylus without letting it become theater. "We will test the duplicate ID on speaker with both sellers present. If the collision reproduces, we post the steps to fix it," she dictated as she wrote. "If it does not reproduce, we publish the path and the reason."
"Add 'no adjectives,'" Ava said.
"Added," Sofia said.
They turned onto Ivy's block. Two people stood by a door with a blue stripe painted along the bottom like a horizon. One held a handheld terminal whose lanyard had seen better days. The other held nothing but their stance.
"Consent," Ava said as security broke a path of space rather than barricade.
The taller of the two nodded. "Consent to on-record speaker," they said. "No names."
"Consent," the second said. "We want to watch the fix. We want to know what to tell customers."
Sofia lifted the tablet to where the camera phones could see the words without being invited. "On record," she said. "Steps and times. No names."
"Speaker," Ava said.
Sofia set the unit on the door rail at hand height, thumbed the call, and made a small rectangle on the screen that separated "hallway" from "street" as categories in a day.
"Comms," Sofia said into the line. "Patch both Ivy sellers into speaker. Mark this as on record. We will test a cart with a small sample checkout for demonstration."
"Copy," the voice said. "Three, two, you are live."
The speaker made a soft tick that belonged to circuits choosing to be citizens. The taller seller steadied the handheld terminal and looked at Ava as if she held a class he did not intend to skip.
"What do you want us to do," he said.
"Open a cart each," Ava said. "Add the same low-cost item. Do not check out yet. On the count we will press pay together. When the error lands, we will read it aloud and post the code."
"If the error lands," the second seller said.
"If the error lands," Ava said. "If it does not, we publish the path and the reason."
Sofia wrote the words "if it does not" on the edge of her palm and then transferred them to the tablet like a promise that did not want to be forgotten.
Elias's head tipped a degree. "No panels on this block," he said. "Cut watch is quiet."
Security glanced at the sidewalk. The press cluster from Orchard had not reproduced at Ivy. A neighbor in a knit cap watched from a truck bench with a dog that believed in afternoons. The air had work in it, not applause.
"Ready," Ava said.
The sellers set their thumbs where thumbs go when people make choices at doors. You could feel the small tension that makes hands present when stakes exceed the price of the thing in the cart.
"Count," Ava said.
"Three," Sofia said.
"Two," Tariq said, because runners get to speak on days like this.
"One," Ava said.
The two thumbs moved. The terminal screens changed to a shape that had been named error by a person who had never liked naming things. The sound they made was more sigh than alarm.
"Read the code," Ava said.
The taller seller read first. "D-Id-Match-015," he said. "Duplicate ID in route."
The second paused a heartbeat behind and caught up. "D-Id-Match-015," she said. "Same."
Sofia wrote the code clean and large. "Error reproduces," she said. "Posted to pin with time."
"Describe the route," Ava said.
Elias spoke to the street and to the phone and to himself. "Two carts share a session token at the last hop," he said. "It should have forked earlier. We will break the link and assign new tokens."
"Will that push their carts into refresh," the second seller said.
"Yes," Elias said. "You will see a one-count spin and then a fresh button. Your items should persist."
"Will they both resolve," the taller said.
"They should," he said. "We will watch your screens until they do."
"Plain words for the pin," Ava said.
Sofia wrote while she spoke. "Two carts collided," she read. "We split them and give them new numbers. Items stay. Buttons refresh."
"Now," Elias said softly.
Both terminals spun. The spin did not flirt with taking longer than a breath. Buttons returned like a small mercy that had learned punctuality.
"Proceed," Ava said.
Two thumbs tapped. Two checkouts processed. The receipts printed with the slow confidence of machines that have learned how to apologize without saying anything.
"Read the last line," Ava said.
The second seller read first this time. "Approved," she said. "Token eight nine five nine."
The taller smiled because sometimes bodies do the math before minds are ready. "Approved," he said. "Token eight nine six zero."
Sofia wrote both tokens and drew one square around each so they would not pretend to be neighbors again.
"Post," Ava said.
"Posted," Sofia said. "Photo of receipts with names masked. Caption in plain words. Time thirteen twenty."
The small speaker under her hand breathed once so quietly it might have been imagination. It was not.
"Comms," the voice said. "Board is aware you went live. The Chair requests a single sentence for the room."
Ava watched the sellers looking at their receipts as if paper could change what a day had been five minutes ago by being stubborn in a new direction.
"Write," she said.
Sofia did not have to ask what. She wrote what the street could read and the room could not ignore.
We reproduced the Ivy Square error on speaker and split it into two clean checkouts at 13:20.
She read it once to be sure English had not betrayed them. "Sent," she said.
Elias touched the headset. "We will push the token fork rule into the appendix after this call," he said. "Short line. No adjectives."
"Do it," Ava said.
The taller seller looked up, receipts in hand. "What do we tell customers," he said.
"Tell them the button may spin once," Ava said. "Then it will work. If it does not, the advocate line answers to a person."
The dog in the truck yawned and chose the sun. The person in the truck smiled without intending to and then stared at the receipts like small weather.
Sofia's tablet buzzed again. She did not look rattled. She looked incrementally busy.
"River Avenue caller on speaker at fourteen," she said. "They ask if they can listen for five minutes now to hear the fix voice."
"Consent," Ava said.
"Consent given," Sofia said.
The small speaker carried its weight. The consent sounded like a person choosing to believe in corridors.
"Footer," Ava said.
Sofia did the math. "Five hundred and fifty eight," she said.
"Post," Ava said.
"Posted," Sofia said.
Security's hand floated near the earpiece and then settled. His eyes moved to the corner where streets teach you things you did not ask to learn. "We have company," he said.
A sedan had made a wrong stop at the mouth of the block and decided to remain wrong. A person with a camera that wanted to belong to a documentary and a voice that wanted to belong to a fight stepped out with a handheld mic already speaking.
"Are you fixing payment or fixing optics," he said, walking toward the speaker like a man who believes objects answer questions.
"We are fixing work," Ava said.
He lifted the mic toward the speaker. "Is this for show," he said to the device.
The device did not answer. Sofia spoke for it. "This is for record," she said.
The taller seller raised his receipt to the camera the way people have raised proof since paper became an idea. "Approved," he said.
The mic looked disappointed. It had wanted a conflict. It got a ledger.
"Route," Ava said softly to Sofia.
"Post Riverlight photo to the ledger as a neighbor of Ivy," she said. "Then route Silver Harbor at fourteen thirty with 'speaker at door' plan."
"Add 'Chair direction keeps pin live,'" Ava said. "Quietly, at footer."
"Added," Sofia said.
Elias lifted a hand a centimeter. "Panel on the corner deli," he said. "Blue at the top edge."
Ava did not raise her voice.
"We cut the band and walk to Ivy Square now."
Elias smiled like a person who appreciates being predicted. "Already cut," he said. "Bezel then source. Origin unmanaged kiosk. Posted."
The handheld mic tried a last angle. "Is Nearlight's CEO signing a leave of absence today," the voice asked.
Ava did not pretend not to hear. "Measure us at eighteen hundred," she said.
The mic lowered a fraction because sentences that carry clocks are tiresome to argue with.
Sofia's tablet rang in the small way that means a call is a promise and not an emergency. She tapped it and let the speaker pick up half a second later.
"Comms," she said. "Ivy Square sellers, we are still on record. River Avenue, you are now listening. At fourteen oh oh you will speak."
"Copy," the voice said from Comms.
"Copy," one of the Ivy sellers said, now the sort of tired you can respect.
A cart template appeared on the taller seller's terminal again because habit is a teacher and he wanted to be sure the lesson had stuck.
"Wait," Sofia said, gently. "We do not need a third token to prove a point."
He laughed once, short and friendly, as if laughter had permission to be small around work.
Security turned his head to the side without moving his feet. "Two people from finance at the corner," he said. "Badges visible. They are filming the sign, not us."
"Let them," Ava said. "Signs have not hurt anyone yet today."
The small speaker popped and fixed itself. Sofia checked the edge and pressed it down with one calm finger. Foster would be proud.
"Time," she said.
"Thirteen twenty five," Tariq said, beating the dashboard clock by one second and grinning about it.
"Add a change," Ava said.
Sofia wrote while she spoke. "Ivy Square duplicate ID fixed live at thirteen twenty," she read. "Tokens assigned, receipts posted, no names."
The taller seller folded his copy and slid it under the counter as if it could live there and make good weather. The second seller taped hers next to a photo of a dog in a sweater and stepped back like a curator who had done right by a small museum.
Sofia's headset gave the soft, respectful tone that means the caller at the end is not trying to be the main character. "River Avenue ready at fourteen," she said. "They can stay on the line."
"We will hold them," Ava said. "We will not waste their minutes."
The person with the mic tried a new posture and found it unhelpful. He lowered the mic and filmed his shoes for a second as if they had always wanted a close-up.
The dog in the truck picked the other side of the seat.
"Appendix," Elias said. "Token fork rule written, ready to post."
"Short," Ava said.
"Short," he said. "When two carts share a token, split and assign new tokens; preserve items. No adjectives."
"Post," she said.
Sofia mirrored the line to the pin with the simplest caption the day could bear. The map line did not change shape. It just looked like it knew where it was going.
A notification flag rose at the top edge of the tablet like a polite hand in a quiet class. Sofia angled it so the camera phones would not pretend to be invited. "Board aide asks for a one-sentence hallway summary at thirteen fifty five," she said. "If we are still in the street."
"We will not be in the hallway," Ava said. "We will be at Silver Harbor."
"Then the sentence will travel by runner," Sofia said.
"It will," Ava said.
The taller seller looked at the blue stripe along the bottom of his door like a horizon. "Thank you," he said. "For the word and the work."
"Keep the receipts," Ava said. "They pay the rest of the day."
A small quiet moved across the block. It was not reverence. It was people going back to doing a life.
Security looked toward the corner. "Deli panel is clean," he said. "No new bands."
Sofia added a line even though it did not need to be said. "Panels clean," she wrote. "Work continues."
The speaker clicked. Comms spoke. "We are at thirteen twenty eight," the voice said. "Two minutes until we flip River Avenue to talk."
Ava nodded and let her shoulders find neutral. Do not flinch.
She turned to the Ivy sellers. "We will step aside for River Avenue," she said. "Stay on the line if you want to hear the next fix begin. It won't be your problem. It will still be your city."
They both nodded, which is the kind of consent that matters when nobody is counting.
Sofia's stylus hovered over a fresh box labeled 6. She did not write the line yet because sometimes you let the hour earn its own sentence.
Ava looked down the block. The map in her head put the next door exactly where the real one was about to appear.
The speaker gave its soft tick.
"River Avenue," Comms said. "You are on in two."