The swarm doesn’t need to own the park. It only needs to know when to leave it. Move in threes, shift the meeting times after Friday prayer, use the baker’s alley when rain comes. Let them watch an empty bench for hours. We were never just here — we were always going somewhere else. Let them chase ghosts while the real thing slips through the cracks like bread crumbs. That’s how my father moved between villages when the maps changed overnight.
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