Jesh sat on the solid cedar floor beam beside the wall. Meanwhile, the night wind rattled the frozen water tank pipes beneath the roof edges. He unfolded the square of heavy parchment with fingers that knew every crease by heart. By the silver slant of moonlight through the shutter, Seyun could see the impressed vermilion seal of the Aperture Court’s Northern Seal Logistics Office at the bottom of the sheet, alongside three silver half-weight coins stitched into a small cloth pouch pinned to the corner.
“My younger brother’s name is Tov,” Jesh whispered. He kept her voice barely above the hiss of the wind outside. “He’s nineteen this winter—three years younger than me. When our father died in the timber slide at Red Creek, I took the laundry contract here at White Heron so Tov could enter the outer base yard. He worked harder than any boy in his bunkhouse. Instructor Maren said his footwork on the low spear forms was as clean as an inner student’s. But every time he tried to push a full Coal breath flow past his chest bone to kindle external Flame, his return channels pinched shut like a drawn purse-string. He would cough blood into his sleeve and hide the rags in my wash-tub so the exam guards wouldn’t strike him from the rolls.”
