She didn't answer because she was busy stitching the room. Threads anchored at twelve points as if she'd been born in cathedrals. She threw a pulse—barely a pulse—but the dust-snow I'd watched up top exploded outward across the nave in a glitter wave that settled on everything and started to glow—faint blue on stone, brighter on Jax, brightest on me. The Grief-Singer stayed invisible to it—no glimmer on the cloth, none on the staff—but the air around him… thickened. The dust refused to land there.
"There," she said. "Any place the thread can't sit is false or—"
The wall to her right closed in and became a mouth.
She fell through it.
For a second my stomach fell into a different elevator shaft.
I Transit-jumped without looking.
[ Lightning Transit — Jump 2/7 ]
[ Pulse: 2 m • Stun: 0.25 s ]
