Page 147 of Pocket Wife

My heart stops.

“Torren. There’s a timer.”

His voice comes tight. “How much?”

“Thirty-two minutes.”

The feed goes quiet.

Then Rethan’s voice, controlled but urgent. “Can you access the panel without triggering the mechanism?”

I examine the casing. No visible latches. No obvious cuts. But near the base, a small recess holds something familiar.

A Solaris water mark.

The same three dots from the cistern handwheel.

I touch it.

The panel brightens.

Three symbols appear: cup, seed, grave.

And beneath them, a simple instruction.

Count the hands that refused.

My gaze locks on the words.

Then I look up at the feed. “The registry. It’s connected to the registry.”

Rethan’s voice comes through faster now. “The refusal registry is the override. The same civic continuity that sealed the water also protects it.”

Salo speaks. “Miss Hartwell, can you enter registry authentication from the node?”

I check the panel.

Three symbols.

Three uses.

Sick. Seed. Dead.

I think of the meeting hall. Of the hands that rose to name the cistern. Of Nara’s voice, Samuel’s voice, Celia’s voice, Darin’s voice.

Of all hands answering.

I press the cup.

“Sick.”

The panel pulses.

I press the seed.

“Hungry.”

It pulses again.