The breathing fold closed across Yara's view.
Dark hide pressed against the completed threshold, close enough for the camera to show grit caught between flat scales. The six metal feet held their weight. None struck again.
Yara kept the water pan against her left hip.
"Tell me what you need before it moves."
"The animal first," Kestrel said. "Your room stays where it is."
Yara looked at the hanging chain above the mark. Its lowest link still pointed at the same chip in the black floor. She drew a chalk circle around the chip and another around the chain's shadow.
Eri marked the matching camera angle on his paper strip. The seam at Old Market remained two fingers wide. The broken fork arm still held the rivet two millimeters short of its third face.
No foot carried Yara's wall while they watched.
Air gathered behind the dark hide.
