Chapter 985: The One Prisoner Stayed Silent

The post kept rolling along its track, already past the hatch but still spanning the opening. Ty’s hand dropped from Tovan’s stretcher and caught the sponsor worker’s ankle before he could reach the shutter.

The worker froze with his leg raised. Fenn’s keg hook held the shutter above them, its curve spreading in the notch. Omina pinned Erebos’s burned wrist to the restraint rail with her green bar while Yun-Jin kept the violet thread taut across his shoulder.

"I can stop the post if you get that hand off my ankle."

JJ crouched beside the bone hand. Her injured thumb stayed folded into her palm. She showed the hand her open fingers, then pointed to the service pedal.

"If you’re listening, let go of his ankle. He needs that foot on the pedal."

The fingers opened, and the worker stamped down on the pedal. The post shuddered to a stop across the hatch, its weight pressing the shutter against Fenn’s bent hook. He kept his heel down. The hand had left a red groove around his ankle; he rubbed it once while watching the fingers return to Tovan’s stretcher.

The clamp faced inward beneath the post, almost flush to the rail. The worker crouched and forced two fingers into the gap; iron scraped his knuckles, yet the tube stayed out of reach. Reaching it meant putting a shoulder under the loaded frame while the shutter hung above Fenn.

He looked at her hook. "Could I use it to pull the clamp out from this side?"

Fenn reset the hook in its notch. The shutter dipped, and she caught its weight with her shoulder. "If I hand you the hook, this drops before you free the clamp. My shoulder can only hold it so long."

Erebos’s wrist dragged the bar half an inch. Omina reset her knee. "No one goes under that frame. We have to clear the hatch before Fenn’s hook gives."

The worker stood, wiping the scrape on his knuckles against his trouser seam. "Last time a parcel went missing, they docked the whole night crew. Two of us were across the bay and hadn’t touched the track. I found this one under the post."

Omina said, "I’ll mark that you found it and I ordered the post moved. I can’t promise your supervisor accepts it."

He nodded toward the shutter. "They read the first line. Put my name beside found, not lost."

Fenn’s shoulder dropped a fraction. The hook caught the notch again. She watched its curve bow while she reset both feet under the shutter. Omina raised two fingers. "At my signal, lift your heel from the pedal. Keep your hand on the shutter until the post clears."

The worker took the shutter handle with one hand and held the pedal down with his boot. He waited until Fenn braced her feet. Omina lowered her fingers. He lifted his heel. The post rolled farther along the same track, clearing the shutter. The brass rim flashed between two braces, then disappeared past the hatch with the post.

Fenn kept her shoulder beneath the shutter while the worker pulled its handle down. They lowered it together. When the latch caught, the unnamed survivor’s index tapped his thigh. He covered it with his other hand; the aide paused with the loose wrap between her fingers.

Fenn pulled the hook free. Its curve had flattened almost straight. She tested the end against the notch; it slipped out and scraped the wall. She set it beside the sill before anyone could step on it.

"That sill is split. The next trolley will finish it," Fenn said.

Omina kept her knee against Erebos’s wrist. "Put a timber brace across the broken sill before the tank trolley crosses."

The worker picked up the slate. He crossed out LOST PACKAGE and wrote FOUND UNDER POST; MOVED ON OMINA’S SIGNAL. She added her mark beside it. He checked that her mark sat beside the order before handing the slate back. "If they still take it from our pay, at least the whole crew knows who gave the order."

Ty’s hand moved from the stretcher rail to the floor. JJ pointed toward Tovan’s cup. The fingers climbed back to the bed and curled around the rail below it.

Tovan looked from the fingers to the cup in his hands. "The hand can rest there. I can hold the cup."

He settled the cup against his mouth without help. JJ kept a hand ready while he took one breath, adjusted the rim, then tried again. When he held it steady, she stepped away with her injured thumb tucked close.

Clinic aides spoke from the cots. Omina heard them without moving her knee off Erebos’s wrist. At the tank trolley, Zunoder leaned over the movement slate and tapped his name.

"I set the board under the trolley. Vey approved the move. Those aren’t the same job."

The clerk changed the entry to say Zunoder placed the board and Vey approved the move. Zunoder read it, then stepped back when the aide approached the tank. The tank woman lifted her living wrist through the service sleeve and pointed beside the blanket covering her graft.

"Clean the skin beside the seam. Keep the graft covered."

The aide cleaned the strip she offered and stopped when she drew her wrist back. The tank woman pulled the blanket higher herself, then turned her wrist so the aide could see the cleaned edge. "That’s enough for now. I’ll tell you if the seam changes."

Zunoder waited until the aide stepped away, then returned to his place beside the loading board.

At the next cot, the unnamed survivor held out his burned middle finger. The aide set scissors beside him, but he moved them away before she could touch the wrap.

"Tell me before you loosen it. That finger catches if you pull too fast."

The aide set the scissors down. "I’ll loosen it with my fingers. You can stop me when it hurts."

He nodded. The cloth caught against the burn; his hand closed around her sleeve. The aide stopped without pulling free. She held her other palm above his knuckles until he let go, then tried the wrap from a different angle. He braced his wrist on his thigh and nodded for her to continue. She unwound the cloth by small turns, pausing whenever his finger tightened.

The aide tied the clean wrap with enough slack for his nail to fit beneath it. He tested the space himself, then turned toward the clerk, who brought the slate to his cot.

"After the last note, there was a pause. Then a latch lifted. Boots crossed the drain on my left while I faced the wall."

The clerk wrote LEFT DOOR. The survivor caught the slate with his good hand. "Left of my chair. I heard boots, but I never saw a door."

The clerk crossed the words out. The survivor kept his hand on the slate. "One prisoner stayed silent through the tune. I never saw their face."

The clerk wrote it down. The survivor released the slate after reading the new line. Dessel leaned forward from the cot, careful of the shoulder resting on his folded coat. The slate had labeled a chain strike as another answer from the song.

"That’s my chain. My thumb caught, and I hit the links to free my hand. Put my name beside the sound."

The clerk changed the line. Erebos pushed against the rail; Omina held the green bar in its groove with her knee. The strain had started to shake her thigh, so she shifted her heel against the rail without giving him room to turn.

The guard turned toward the exit. "Should I check the nearest doors now, or wait for a direction?"

Omina said, "He gave you left of his chair, not a door. Stay here until we have more than a guess."

The guard stopped. The survivor looked at the clerk. "Don’t send anyone on my account. I can’t point to a door."

The clerk copied the final account and slid it over. The survivor read to the crossed-out direction and checked Dessel’s name. "Leave my name off. The rest is right."

He folded the page and kept it in his lap.