Sofia Nowak writes about power, memory, and the moral bookkeeping of states. Drawn to the edges where maps lie, she follows the quiet decisions-cabinet clauses, railway charters, schoolroom texts-that turn discomfort into doctrine. Her work blends archival curiosity with a reporter's attention to voices often footnoted: teachers, stevedores, junior officers, the clerk who typed the order at dusk. Raised between Baltic borderlands and Pacific shorelines, she is attuned to how empires compose themselves-in metrics, in myths, in uniforms-and to what those compositions cost. This book continues her preoccupation with the moment a staged incident becomes a nation's story, and with the obligations of those who see it happening to say so plainly.