The stone beneath Isolde crumbled. Eloy lunged.
His hand closed on fabric, not flesh. Rough-woven sleeve material, already straining at the shoulder seam where her arm had wrenched during the shove. Bridge segment tilting sharply, a fifteen-degree pitch that sent loose masonry skittering into the ravine. Two hundred feet of open air swallowed the sound.
Ankle reported the brace through numbness as a red-line feedback pulse. Not pain. Damage he'd pay for later. Isolde's full weight hit the fabric and the threads audibly strained, a sound like pulling a drawstring past its limit.
[404ManaNotFound]: THAT'S FABRIC NOT A WRIST
[LMAO_cat]: PHYSICS ENGINE SAID YOINK
[speedGoblin_]: two second timer on that seam. max.
"Isolde!" The same tone he used for frame-perfect input calls. "Right hand. Fracture line. Three inches above your head!"
