The first pull moved Eli less than the width of his hand.
He hung in the ordinary harness above a section of floor that had stopped being floor. A slab lay tilted beneath his boots, its far edge grinding against the wall. The physical line ran from his harness through a fixed point the technician could still inspect, then toward Juno and the workers braced on the near platform.
They pulled again.
His good hand slipped on the loop. The injured wrist tried to take the strain, and he shouted before pain made him lose the grip entirely.
“Stop.”
The line held.
Juno lowered the pull without letting him fall back. Someone behind her repeated the stop toward the receiving position so the next pair of hands would not keep hauling from ignorance. The technician checked the rope against its guide, then called the adjustment that would let Eli turn his hip toward the remaining foothold.
“Left boot. There’s a rib below it.”
