In the museum gallery, the sound of Ada’s nonstop bell hit Pella Rook like an icy bucket of river water thrown in her face. Through the copper wire in her palms, she could feel the final, golden strand of Senn’s coordination set—the exact rhythm of the Three Open Gates—hovering right at the tips of her fingers. She was thirty seconds away from completing the release. If she held on for just thirty seconds, the entire transfer would be finished.
Thirty seconds will kill Ada Morland, the quiet voice of field skill whispered in her mind. Thirty seconds will blow the lead collar and drop the Third Gate.
Pella didn’t hesitate. She didn’t argue with the bell. She didn’t plead for more time from an unbending river. With a swift, decisive motion of her left hand, she reached up to her chest, seized the scarlet wool ribbon pinned over her heart. Then she yanked the red tab free with a sharp, clean rip. With her right hand, she slammed the bare end of the copper wire against the zinc grounding plate on the table.
A shower of blue sparks crackled across the wood as the connection grounded harmlessly into the building’s lightning sink. The mental channel vanished. The terrifying pressure in her chest collapsed into cold, empty relief. Across the gorge, Ada’s liquid silver needle dropped instantly from eighty-four pounds to fifty-two. The pipe hub was saved. The apprentice had obeyed the stop bell.
