She wandered until she found a child's room with walls painted in a galaxy of glow-in-the-dark stars. On the bed lay a worn backpack with a sticker that read: UPD. Mara laughed—her chest hitched with something like recognition. UPD: update. The sticker belonged to someone who had named their life as if it were software in need of patches. The backpack contained a single digital device that looked, impossibly, like both a cassette player and a smartphone. A tiny label read "house_save_v3_upd.exe."