The morning came gray and still, the fog holding its line beyond the north road. Liesl Kfir left her shop before the breakfast smoke had cleared, wiping her hands on her apron as she walked. She found Zipporah Gefen already at the survey post, tape measure in hand, squatting low to look at the base of the wall.

"Good, you're here," Liesl said. "I need that count, and I need it today."

Zipporah straightened. "I was just about to run it again. Last time I had seven, tape flat against the stones."

"And the survey says six. That's not a pacing error. You and I are going to walk it together, one block at a time, and call out every stone."

They stood side by side at the post, the tape stretched flat between them. Zipporah touched the first stone with her finger. "One." Liesl nodded. "Two." They moved eastward, their boots crunching the gravel in unison. "Three." "Four." "Five." "Six." Zipporah's hand paused at the next stone, a narrow one, its edges clean and true. "Seven."

Liesl shook her head. "I counted six."

"There it is again. Seven."

"You're counting the seam between the two small ones as a block."

"The seam is a block. It's a full stone, measured edge to edge. The survey's six leaves it out."

Liesl stepped closer and ran her palm over the stone. It was cool and solid, no different from the others. She counted again, silently, her finger tracing each joint. Six. Zipporah stood beside her and counted aloud. Seven. They did it three more times, walking the same stretch, and each time the numbers split the same way. Liesl felt the heat rise in her chest, but she said nothing. She just pressed her hand flat against the seventh stone and held it there.

Near noon, Ivo Segal walked down the south road to the old well, his stopwatch clicking in his pocket. He found Liesl there, waiting, her arms crossed. "Let's finish the click test now," he said. "Headphones on, I'll drop the stone and say the cue, and you tell me if the second sound follows my voice or the splash."

Liesl put the headphones over her ears. "Fine. But if it follows your voice again, you're coming to the Council with me tomorrow."

"I said I'd go." Ivo picked up a small stone from the well's edge and held it over the dark water. "Ready? When I drop, count the splashes. I'll say 'now' right after."

He let the stone fall. It struck the water with a clean plop. "Now," Ivo said.

Liesl pulled the headphones off. "The second sound came after your 'now', not after the splash. Again."

Ivo stared at the ripples. "That's not possible. I didn't even hear a second sound."

"You didn't hear it. I did. Same as always." Liesl handed him the headphones. "Try again."

He dropped another stone. Another plop. "Now." Liesl shook her head. "After the 'now'. Every time." A guard appeared at the top of the path, his hand raised. "Ivo. Captain. You know the rules—no standing past the last post after dusk, no recording equipment near the water without a council note."

"We're not recording," Ivo said.

"Council note or not, the Captain should know better." The guard's voice was flat, patient. "Please step back from the well."

Ivo looked at Liesl. Her jaw was tight. He put the stopwatch away and touched her elbow. "We'll finish this another time."

"No," she said. "We'll finish it when you're ready to admit what you heard."

They walked back toward town in silence, the guard watching them go.

At the town hall, Dalia Shalev sat across from Garrin Zohar, a notebook open between them. "I'm not here to fight the guard," she said. "I just want to know the rule so I don't trip over it again."

Garrin turned a page in the ledger. "The guard's orders are simple: no one stands past the last post after dusk, and no recording equipment near the water without a council note. That's what I've got."

"Then why were we turned back at noon? Noa said we were just trying to mark the recording, not touch the water."

Garrin looked up. "I don't have a noon entry for that. But I can check the patrol log—maybe the guard was told something different."

"Can we bring our notes and the recording here, with Ivo present? I don't want Noa caught between my questions and someone else's duty."

"That's fair. I'll set a time tomorrow, after the morning count. Ivo can explain the order himself, and we'll write down what's allowed."

"And if the order doesn't match the ledger? What then?"

Garrin closed the book. "Then we've got two records that don't agree, and that's exactly what I'm here to fix."

In the orchard at the east edge, Fernando knelt at the fog line and found the damp half of the blue seed where he'd left it. He carried it back to his workshop, weighed it against the dry half, and noted the tint. Nothing unusual. Everything measured the way it should. He wrote the words in his ledger and sat for a long while staring at the two halves, as if waiting for one of them to move.

Night came. The fog held its line. In the repair shop, Liesl pressed her finger to the speaker where the second sound lived. In the town hall, Ivo sat with his stopwatch in his open palm. And at the north survey post, the wall stood silent under its seven stones—six by one count, seven by another—waiting for someone to decide which was true.