"We test the lane on the exhale only," she mouthed.
He nodded. We wait for the room to give it to us. We do not steal.
The Hound took the inner pass on the next down-breath alone, slow as a lesson. It eased along the two-person width, chain lying quiet under the scarf, ribs barely brushing air. Halfway through, a lantern deep in the Warden's chest brightened half a thought. The Hound paused and watched the light die back. Its tail did not move. The cloth did not slip. It finished the arc and came back the same way, as if to tell them: it works if you respect the sigh.
Rodion's small green ticks lined up along the pass lane. The orange half-arc under the elbow remained. The blue breath ribbon pulsed in and out, an old lung deciding not to be cruel for a moment.
