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She was back in her office. The binder sat there, mocking her. The PDF was still open on her screen, but now it seemed heavier, each clause a beam in a cathedral of safety.

“Welcome, Elena,” the figure said, her voice a crisp, relay-click staccato. “I am Clause 7.2. I govern the verification of overcurrent protection.”

They stopped before a glowing console. On it, a single icon pulsed: Print.