Page 93 of Pocket Wife

A narrow seam opens in the ground beside the channel, no wider than a hand. Cold mineral air rises from beneath, carrying not decay but sealed stone and old water.

A small cylinder lifts from the seam on a hidden cradle.

It is black, smooth, and marked with three symbols: cup, seed, grave.

I leave it untouched.

“Neutral extraction required,” I say.

Kaun answers immediately. “A tribunal preservation officer is en route.”

Sen snaps, “Helix demands equal observation.”

“You may observe through the live record,” Salo says. “No Helix personnel will approach the cistern.”

Lucy fixes on the cylinder. “Can you read it without opening?”

“Perhaps.” I adjust my slate to surface scan. “Outer inscription only.”

The scan resolves slowly.

I read aloud.

“Resident Refusal Registry. Original households and guardians of record. Sealed beneath first water. No extraction, lease, mineral access, or commercial displacement may proceed while one recorded household line remains in continuity.”

Nara begins crying again, but this time she covers her mouth to keep from interrupting the record.

Lucy does not cry.

Her eyes remain fixed on the cylinder like she is afraid hope might vanish if she blinks.

I watch her understand it.

Her family did not merely inherit land. They inherited a refusal. Someone before her looked into the future, imagined ships, contracts, threats, and soft official language, and answered before Helix ever arrived.

No.

The word has been waiting under the water all along.

I continue scanning.

Then I stop.

Lucy sees. “What?”

“There is a secondary mark.”

“From Helix?”

“No.”

I enlarge the image.

A broken seal lies beneath the original inscription. Not fresh. Old. Deep enough to have scarred the cylinder, but not opened it.

My skin goes cold.

“Someone tried to force this before,” I say.