People moved. The human machine that had been a chain became columns and lanes, bodies shepherded behind steel and tires. The operator lifted his chin toward the floating room, left hand feathering the winch, right hand on the brake lever like a promise he might keep or break.
“Pikes,” she said to her crew. “Deflect if you can. No hero plays. We let steel lose to breath every time.”
Rook was already there with two firefighters, poles low, heels ground into concrete. Luke stood a step behind them—not bigger, just heavier—ready to be the third point if physics asked for one. June watched the kids as if their faces were gauges; the second their fear climbed, she would change the picture.
“Eyes here,” she told them, cheerful but not fake. “Sock train, count our steps.”
Zoe nodded and started: “One, two, one, two.” Liam echoed, softer, finding the thread he’d made himself.
