The Keeper will tell you what happened. I'll tell you what's coming.
There is something about a borrowed map. How it feels credible in the hand — the weight of it, the fold-lines suggesting someone else's careful study. You trust a map that has been used before. You trust it even when it led its first owner somewhere other than where they were going.
Scotland is holding a borrowed map right now. I can feel the reverence around it. The way it is being passed between rooms, unrolled on tables, traced with a finger. Here. This is where we slow them. This is where the pressure breaks. The men explaining it believe in it. That belief is real and it matters and it is also not the same thing as the map being correct.
What I feel around this is not danger exactly. It is the specific texture of hope that has been organised. Hope with footnotes. Hope that has done its homework and trusts the homework and does not yet know whether the homework was the right subject.
The ceiling is not a ceiling yet. It is still a sky.
That is the problem with borrowed maps. They do not show you what was built after they were drawn.