On an evening that smelled of rain and citrus, a child slipped a folded note into a conduit and, by accident or design, the lattice carried it far. The note read: remember us when you smooth the roads. The autofluid, in its pragmatic way, rerouted a delivery to take a detour past an old mural, where a neighbor paused to tell a story she had not spoken in years. The city continued to hum. Somewhere inside its veins, the Infinity crack widened and narrowed like a living thing—kept, curated, and, when it could be, left to be human.