Patterns.
You think you see them only in hindsight.
But the Whitmans have always felt them first-as breath, rhythm, ache.
In Echoes of the Turning Wheel, the family confronts time not as sequence but as recurrence. Dreams repeat. Wounds reopen across generations. A young archivist named Mara uncovers a sealed Whitman testimony from eighty years prior-one that appears to predict her every move.
Meanwhile, a cult-like civic faction uses these patterns to justify a new regime: "If this has all happened before," they argue, "perhaps we were always meant to rule."
What unfolds is not prophecy.
It is resistance to recursion-story as sabotage.
Because if history is a wheel, then naming the spokes may be the only way to shatter it.