The wall answers. Not in a voice. In a sound like a chisel going through soft stone, once, and then the sound stops.

There is a line of new lettering at head height that was not there when she got up to stretch her legs.

MioneThat is not a carving. That is my handwriting. Somebody has cut my handwriting into a wall at four in the morning.

She reads it out because reading it out loud is what she does with documents, and then she understands what she has just done.