“No.”

“Elian,” it said at last, “what kind of coin?”

Transcript of Audio Log – recovered from Zone B-7, timestamp 03:14:22

“…Yes.”

The Censor’s eye—a single lens of dark, flawless glass—adjusted its focus. It read the paper. It read his face. It read the small tremors in his left hand, the residue of old hope still clinging to his right.