"Nothing fancy," he told himself. He wanted the mask. He wanted to climb it like a fool and pry until the secret came clean. Later. Later, when the jar is safe.
The Juggernaut's arm set lost agreement. For a breath there were four arguments instead of a choir. Hooks yanked. Blades sliced. A trapped link begged. A shoulder tried to be clever. They didn't hunt the head. They hunted that breath.
The wedge slid out again before greed could claim feet. The line reset to quiet. The room had to learn them twice.
On the next stutter, the elvish seam in the wall answered.
It was a tiny sound in a loud life, a harp string plucked under a sheet. Mikhailis's mouth went dry. He didn't move. You don't startle birds when you want to see them.
Rodion's voice came in his bones, gentler than usual.
