By morning, the chalk had multiplied.
Tal noticed it first from his window: a smear of white two buildings over, under the lip of a balcony that no adult ever looked at unless they were hanging laundry.
He squinted.
WE REMEMBER
The rest was cut off by a rust stain, but he knew the line.
He'd written it.
Rin's cam had caught the first version down by the arch scar, words bright and stubborn under a sky that looked like it wanted to rain just to get it over with.
Now, scribbles of it were showing up where he hadn't put them.
On his way down to the street, he counted three more.
WE REMEMBER on a stairwell.
WHAT IT CAN'T on a cracked pillar.
REMEMBER in tiny cramped letters on the back of a mailbox, as if someone had written it for themselves and no one else.
Rin's stream had gone out the night before, just a short piece chalk, wall, a few seconds of her voice saying, "If they can erase the footage, they still can't erase us. Not if we refuse to forget."
