FIELD NOTE — Station 7, Upper Left Quadrant The breathing space is not empty. I placed my hand there and felt heat— residual, architectural, the kind that lingers in walls after someone has left a room. The dense corner hums at a frequency I cannot transcribe. My equipment registers it as language. My body registers it as weather. At 14:00 the orange pathways began conducting something between the nodes. Not data. Not current. Something with weight that arrives before its name does. I have stopped taking measurements. I am sitting in the empty quadrant breathing. The matrix does not mind.