Rehabilitation remained slow after the settlement. Nora's left foot woke in sparks rather than a clean return of feeling. Some mornings she walked between parallel bars; other mornings she practiced falling safely from her chair. I caught myself celebrating every step and going quiet after every setback. She finally told me my face had become a scoreboard. I apologized and asked what kind of witness she needed. She said someone who could sit beside a hard day without turning it into a prediction.

Evelyn began visiting on Thursdays. She taught Nora to solder simple radio connections at an accessible workbench. Lucas and Amaya joined by video, testing a low-power trail beacon for hikers who could not use touch screens easily. Nora had worked in transit mapping before the fall, and she started marking benches, slopes, surface changes, and cellular dead zones on public routes. Her new maps did not promise safety. They gave people enough detail to make their own decisions.

The black coin stayed in a clear evidence sleeve until the county agreement was final. Gloria wanted Nora to keep it; Evelyn believed it belonged to Amaya's family. Nora proposed a third answer. The historical library mounted the coin beside a copy of the corrected incident report and Evelyn's receiver. The display named everyone who consented and left the children's surname out. A blank space beneath the case invited visitors to record hazards they had reported and whether anyone answered.

On the day the display opened, Nora stood for a photograph using forearm crutches. Then she asked the photographer to take another with her seated, because standing was not the only version that counted. I watched her position the folded trail map beneath the coin. She left the coffee-stained bluebird visible. When the case was locked, the compass rose reflected in the glass, its twenty-seven points doubled into a dark wheel that seemed to turn whenever someone passed.