The volunteer had tied a red cloth around her wrist so the crossing crews could find her hand through the smoke.
Eli noticed the cloth before he noticed the failing hinge. She stood beside a manual barrier panel, leaning back on a lever that wanted to rise. Families crossed behind her in groups small enough to pass between a stalled delivery cart and the wall. A little girl counted them aloud because her grandfather had asked her to keep him walking.
“Next six,” the volunteer called.
The local operator was on the other side of the panel, trying to free its return catch. He had closed the feed to the damaged section. The problem was no longer a bright surge someone could call magic. It was steel twisted around stone, storing weight in a direction the frame had never been built to bear.
Eli put down the dressings he had been carrying.
“Where’s your brace?”
“Coming,” the operator said.
The woman at the lever shook her head toward the last group. “They can’t wait for it.”
