Canvas scraped the floor like sand when they dragged the roll into the hall.
Needles flashed, thread bit through stiff fabric, and the women who worked on the canvas had their jaws set, their fingers raw, and their thumbs taped when the bleeding got to be too much.
Noah watched the line of stitches travel, slow and even, a seam that would not tear when the wind tried to pull it apart.
Kaito crouched beside the pile of poles, lips moving as he counted lengths and couplers under his breath. He tested a knot, shook it hard, and tested again. Roane hovered near the stairwell with three boys and a coil of wire looped over his shoulder. The building leaned around them as if listening.
Noah lifted his hand and warmed the hallway by a few degrees. Not comfort. Just enough to stop breath from fogging the needles. The women worked faster when metal didn't bite.
