The ladle scraped the bottom of the broth pot.
Elias tipped the last half scoop into a soldier's tin cup. The man took it with both hands, eyes fixed on the steam, and backed away before anyone could decide he had been given too much.
Nobody thanked him, which kept their attention on the food instead of the cook.
Elias lowered the ladle. His arm shook hard enough that broth spotted the ash around his boots. The pot was almost empty, but holding the construct in place had become a slow punishment. Every minute of stability pulled at his core. The ache sat under his ribs and spread into his spine.
Dot's stirred weakly at his collarbone. "Your core is micro-fracturing under the stability lock, and you are going to drop if you keep feeding it."
Elias kept his head bent over the pot.
