So here is the piece’s final instruction: Fill the dashes with what you fear you cannot spell. The ithmc will remember the rest.

If you say it aloud: Ah – oh – ithm – cee The mouth travels from surprise to recognition, then through a tunnel of noise, and ends in a letter that feels like a brand.

The dashes are the real story. Not missing letters — withheld ones. What we choose to not type. The pause that makes algorithm into a–o-ithmc is the same pause that makes a machine hesitate before telling you the truth.

The first vowel is a , open and surrendered. The second vowel is o , round as a swallowed key. Between them, two dashes — not gaps, but the negative space where consonants used to breathe.