Neon Silence Unbroken

[Entry 314/A]: The rain ricocheted from chrome helmets and glass facades, drumming a syncopated urgency through the corridor of light. Crowds—rigid, identical—formed like echoes, each figure pivoting toward that towering display. Above them the question pulsed: *Where Vojta?* Letters flickered, glitching backward for fragments of a second, as if time rehearsed its own collapse before resuming the present. Hovercraft glided along unseen rails, their under-lights feathering blue trails over puddled asphalt. At street level, one silhouette refused symmetry. Hood drawn tight, he stood centered in the wet geometry, shoulders tilted with a resolve that felt almost triumphant—yet the victory was unfinished, hanging like breath in cold air. Every neon glyph promised a network humming beyond sight, an architecture that listens and records even as it forgets. Still, the faces, the posture of the watchers, confess nothing. My notes close with the same absence that opened them: despite the rain, the lights, and this orchestrated stillness—Vojta remains beyond our reach.