On the third floor, past the archive room that still smelled faintly of camphor and typewriter oil, the editorial team had set up a map. Pins, yarn, and polished thumbnails of photographs—frontlines of adaptation. Jonas, the photo editor, had a camera strap creased like a smile. He handed Lena a roll of negatives. “We have to choose,” he said. “We have eight spreads, and half the city wants its story told.”