Mara’s favorite small triumph came on the fourth run, when a single-page, coffee-stained protocol that had stumped her for an hour was transformed into clean text. The protocol’s title—scrawled in faded pencil—was now searchable; a crucial reagent’s concentration, once obscured by a smudge, read plainly. She felt a tangible lift, a line drawn from past hands to present minds. It was a moment that felt like translation between eras.