Aris’s gaze fell to the final entry, written in a shaky, desperate scrawl:

But why?

Now, under the magnifying lamp, Aris had found it.

She stared at Item 1. The tear that should have fallen on Veruda. The one someone had re-stitched to fall into the sea.

The errata weren’t corrections. They were a to-do list. And someone—the apprentice, or a conservator before her—had already started checking items off.

The official Mola Errata List was a single, vellum page glued to the back of the frame, written in the spidery hand of the artist’s apprentice. Every restoration project had errata—corrections, mistakes, second thoughts. But this list was different.

She looked at the weeping sun-woman. At the rising thread-sea. At the tiny, perfect knot.