The replacement support reached them with dust still shaking from its carrying strap. The guard took the light while Bram ran a hand over the straight head. They tested the screw through its travel before bringing it below. A man waiting beside the access struck the wall with his palm.
“My brother is still there.”
“Then tell them which part of there,” Bram said. “We need your voice more than your hands.”
The man stared at him. Eli thought he might push past, and put himself beside the opening without blocking the sound. Below, someone coughed twice. The waiting worker called a name, then bent so abruptly his forehead almost touched the lintel. An answering scrape came from the farther side of the basement.
The first group had crossed on the props already seated. Eli helped the guard examine their bearing points while the physical crew prepared the next frame. There was no room for a grand effort. Each task occupied a strip of floor, a pair of hands, a few breaths that could not be lent to another task without leaving something undone.
His observer stopped him before he joined the crew.
“Where are we?”
He answered. She asked what held the first passage, and he pointed to the ordinary props. She asked what he had released, then waited for him to say it rather than accepting a nod. The old absences did not change. He could name the morning with the pear, tell her why it mattered, and…
