The blue sliver worked deeper under Nessa's palm each time Tovan breathed.
On his fifth breath, she lost the edge of the red rivet beneath her shortened finger. The numbness reached the scar a cargo door had given her when she was twelve. That scar usually itched before rain. Now it felt like a gap someone had cut into her hand.
Tovan held the gray cup beneath his jaw. His knuckles shook around Ty's loose thumb, though the tube remained open.
"The next breath makes six, and I would prefer to keep counting past ten."
"Keep your wrist braced while I change support."
Dessel's bound thumb struck the black joint twice. His head rested on the lower edge of the crate, turned far enough for one eye to follow Nessa's hand.
"Leave that metal under the stone. I watched it open nine restraints, then close a room around the last carrier who supplied a pulse."
Nessa pressed harder. Feeling stopped below her wrist.
