The film opened with a shot she recognized immediately: the same London alley washed in washed-out blues, the same crows on the lampposts. But the world beneath the camera's gaze had aged not into ruin but into a strange, repurposed resilience. People walked with careful economy, not the wild sprint of the infected we remembered; wooden barricades had given way to gardens and panels of solar glass. Children played with carved toys made from salvaged circuitry. The score—if it could be called that—was quieter, punctured by field recordings: a radio signal loop, cicadas, the metallic rhythm of a tram.