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Over the next week Mara tried the other options. "Find Lost" required a location and a date. She typed "Green Market — Saturday last summer." The installer opened a window that scrolled messages—snippets of conversations she hadn't had with those people, or had had but forgotten: a vendor joking about an umbrella, a stranger lending a chair. Nothing magical, strictly speaking—no clairvoyance, no theft of private data—just overlays of memory stitched from publicly accessible fragments the program pulled from cached web pages, archived posts, and public records. It reassembled context the way a collage artist might.