Ilyan covered the damaged portion of the inscription with a plain sheet.
Eli had thought the gaps were already obvious. On the rough copy they looked like invitations: a broken curve could become a complete sign if he wanted the sentence strongly enough. With the damaged section covered, the legible words became fewer and the claims easier to see.
“This term refers to the caretaker,” Ilyan said. “The operator that maintains the system and the constructed seal.”
His finger moved to a separate line.
“This one refers to the captive intelligence. The accounts describe it seeking escape.”
Juno wrote the two terms separately. The interpreter repeated them in the shared language, then explained why she was not using the same ordinary word for both. One held a duty in relation to the machinery. The other was what the prison had been built to confine.
“The caretaker is the prisoner?” Eli asked, testing the confusion that had followed him through the earlier accounts.
“No. The terms distinguish them.”
