Tessa could feel the cable through the winch control.
Every small movement reached her as a change in resistance: Mira turning against the harness, Eli drawing the outer length clear of the edge, the pulley trying to rotate around the bent guide. The instrument beside her gave a load she could record. Her hand told her when the load changed faster than the needle settled.
She did not trust one without the other.
“Hold,” Eli called.
She stopped. The technician watched the fitting from beside the brace. His wrapped forearm rested on his knee, and he used his good hand to point where the cable’s angle had begun creeping toward the lower side.
“Next pull, not as far.”
Tessa nodded. Across the broken span, Mira worked at the guide. Her injured arm stayed close enough to the frame that Tessa could not see what pressure it bore. Her other hand pulled the damaged metal outward in increments, then stopped while Eli relieved the cable’s sideways load.
They were close enough to see one another’s pain and too far apart to take it over.
