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But for five minutes, they had been human. And the 2x2 template had no box for that.

None of them spoke. They didn’t need to. In the 2x2 grid of their formal attire, they had found a third dimension: the space between the rules.

Mina’s own rebellion was the foulard. She had stitched a single word inside the crimson silk, where only her skin would feel the thread: “Leave.”