Elias stayed low beside the last cage, counting chain links the way he used to count stitches.
One link… two… five more to the next weld. The pattern should have been calming. It wasn't. His hands might have been steady, but his head wasn't.
He'd been fighting the hum under his ribs for weeks now, even though it seemed longer.
Numbers usually kept it down—dosage ratios, pressure values, the easy, factual comfort of cause and effect. But around her, logic bent like heat over metal. The hum didn't care about ratios. It cared about rhythm, pulse, and the smell of living skin.
Zubair finished the cut and signaled back without turning. Elias packed the cutters, double-checking the latch even though he'd done it a thousand times. The motion helped. Order helped.
Sera passed behind him, quiet as always, her eyes skimming the yard like she was trying to memorize every shade of rust.
