The newer copy ended at the wrong edge.
Barnaby stood on the archive table and placed one claw beside the cropped corner. The archivist moved the lamp.
“There,” he said.
The old plate held three more lines. A return curve. A group of units the working drawing had omitted. A name, written with more confidence than elegance.
Dave.
Felix leaned across the table.
The archivist put her hand between his fingers and the plate.
“Copy surface.”
