The small hand did not let go.
The cutting carriage turned beneath the green-tile room, carrying the hand past Rook's service slot and toward the central pit. Four dirty fingers held the outer rail. The thumb stayed hidden below it.
"Keep the hand in view," Farah said. "No name yet."
Irik opened the riding room's floor hatch. North's shoulder moved under the room, but the scar staples around its wall remained seated. She tied her work camera to an ordinary tool cord and lowered it beside the white neck plate.
Caleb held the cord away from North's breathing slit with his right hand. His left stayed pressed over the marked edge of his hip dressing.
The camera reached the carriage.
Its view followed the fingers to a narrow wrist, a torn brown sleeve, and one sharp elbow. A black guard bar crossed above the body. Irik fed out another handspan without passing the rail.
A girl lay curled between the carriage's outer guard and its wheel housing.
