With both hands, Pella seized the scarlet wool ribbon pinned over her heart. She tore it from her tunic with a violent, definitive rip, held it high in the air for all to see, and shouted into the roaring room: “I PULL MY TAB! THE CONNECTION IS HALTED!”
She threw the live copper wire into the bucket of dry river sand beside the table. A muffled hiss and a cloud of gray dust erupted from the bucket as the magnetic-pull charge was grounded harmlessly into the earth. The golden vision in her mind shattered into a thousand harmless droplets. The terrifying, intoxicating power vanished. That left behind only the cold, wet reality of an exhausted nineteen-year-old apprentice standing on a drafty floor.
Across the gorge, the cut connection allowed the seized Crown to snatch back a single strand of Senn’s coordination set. The river gave a deep, groaning shudder, and the Third Gate pressure bumped up four pounds. But Pella stood tall, her hands blistered, her breath coming in deep, clean sobs of relief. She had saved herself from becoming the very thing she was fighting.
It was minute 62 and 14 seconds on the Courtesy Arch clockwork dial, with 28 minutes left before forced recall when cold mountain runoff carrying tangled net twine swirled against the braced overhead frame uprights. It sent a fine shower of mist across the chalked escape board. Without wasting a second of the overtime allowance, Pella Rook checked the cut scarlet chest-ribbon with a…
