Eren Tal didn’t hesitate. The red tab hit the floorboards. Then, he seized a pair of heavy three-foot bolt cutters from his chest, leaned out the casement window. Then he cut the overhead copper wire with a clean, explosive snap. The cut ends fell away into the gorge, breaking the physical circuit permanently.
Sister Merrow was at Pella’s side in an instant. She wrapped her burned wrists in cold, vinegar-soaked linen cloths and forced her down onto the wooden bench. Kel Dorr stepped between Pella and the window. His arms spread was wide as if he could shield her from the storm with his own body.
Pella sat with her head down, her shoulders shaking, the tears cutting through the grime on her cheeks. “I lost the strand, Eren,” she sobbed, her voice breaking into small, jagged pieces. “I pulled the tab... And the Crown took the set back. I failed.”
“Shut your mouth, Pella Rook,” Eren said, his voice softer than she had ever heard it, his broad hand resting on the crown of her head. “You pulled your tab when your mind was burning. You did what we asked every carter on Fish Street to do. You chose your life, and you chose our lives, over an iron machine. That isn’t failure, lass. That’s the bravest piece of field skill this city has seen in a hundred years.”
