Claude Code writes into a conversation in two hands that are not anyone's writing: elements of its own around text it injected, and the control codes a terminal used to colour the output of a command. Both reach a reader as punctuation they never typed and cannot act on, so the adapter takes them off here — the one place that knows this tool's habits.
Only Claude Code's own element names are known. Any other element in a session is someone's writing — a prompt vocabulary a project invented, a fragment of HTML in a file — and survives as the characters it is.
The call a task notification is about, when it names one.
The call a task notification is about, when it names one.
A call left running answers twice: at once, with a receipt saying it started, and later — often tens of rows later — with this, saying how it ended. The notification names the call it belongs to, and that name is the only thing tying the two ends of a background exchange together.
The name for a turn that is nothing but one of the wrappers, or nothing when the turn is somebody's own words. Recognised by the text opening with the wrapper, so a message that merely mentions one is still a message.
The name for a turn that is nothing but one of the wrappers, or nothing when the turn is somebody's own words. Recognised by the text opening with the wrapper, so a message that merely mentions one is still a message.
Only a failure is a failure. Work that was killed or stopped ended before it was finished, which is not the same thing, and the notification says so in its own words.