She reads the seams.
Proof four: this is Bea, drawn from her own comic sheet — and the light is finally hers. Gold seam-light, running down from her open hand. It never reverses. It just flows.
The text travels fastest.
This plate rides at full scroll speed. Bea drifts slower — nearer things lag. The golden thread behind her is slowest of all, the far wall of the room.
Her shadow gives her away.
As you scroll she rises a little and leans toward you — a few degrees, no more. The soft shadow under her spreads and fades as she lifts. That shadow is the whole trick: it is what your eye believes.
Lore-checked.
Her gift, per her own comic: seam-reading. The gold light runs along the joins of made things — fine, bright, and costly; at the Christmas table it drains out of her hand while she smiles at a joke. No swirls, no spectacle. And the loop is a true loop now: down, one direction, forever.