Sella confirmed that the drainage door could take a low-pressure test. She told Yan to move the wheel two marks while the operators closed the south feed.
Yan reset his feet on the inscription and followed the containment sequence. The method’s intended backlash turned into stronger support through his shoulders and back. The pressure moved through his body toward the gate, smooth and steady. He pushed.
The iron wheel resisted like a fixed stone. His palm slipped against the hot handle, and the outer edge of his glove began to smoke. Qinghe passed a fresh glove through the corridor hatch.
“Change it before you try again,” she said.
Yan held the wheel in place with his shoulder and took the new glove. It was thicker than the first, stiff across the fingers. He pulled it on with his teeth, then checked the grip. The handle remained hot. The glove only gave him enough protection to keep working.
The wheel turned one mark. Pressure moved through the channel with a deep groan. Sella read the gauges while Gu called the next sequence from the old plan.
“Hold at one,” Sella said.
Yan froze the handle in place. The pressure shifted beneath his hand, a heavy pulse that traveled through the iron into the channel. The gauge needle rose, then fell. One operator called the number, and the second recorded it on the slate. Sella waited for the reading to settle before she allowed the next change. Nothing exploded. No stone fell…
