“Verified,” the pack said. He liked that. Verification meant someone else had walked these roads before him, had signed their work with polish and patience. But verification didn’t erase mystery. Hidden amid tidy scripts he found little flourishes: a sticker in a small town reading “Remember the ferry,” a rusted sign half-buried in a field that referenced a dev’s dog, a trailer livery that mirrored the first truck he’d driven as a kid. Each easter egg was a fingerprint—a human trace in the machine.