He felt the building decide to cooperate for a few minutes. Boards settled. Steps softened. The air listened.
On the fifteenth floor, the Stair Guard held position with wrapped hands and taped knuckles. Noah stopped long enough to lift both palms and warm the landing. They sighed as heat slid into bones. He cut it before relief could turn into begging.
On the thirteenth, he let his heat flow into a frozen valve and turned water into a thin trickle, enough to fill two buckets instead of one. The room cheered without sound. He left before gratitude hardened into worship.
On the tenth, a man with clever fingers had built a spool that took wire from one end and fed it out the other, straight and even. Noah watched him work, saw the way he handled pliers like pens, and recruited him without ceremony. "Anchor Crew," Noah told him. "Drill, bolt, test."
The man blinked and nodded and did not ask for more food.
