A runner caught Yan at the upper stair, one hand gripping the rail and the other holding a damp paper slip above the water on the steps. He had climbed fast enough to come up short of breath. Yan waited while he steadied himself.
“From Qinghe,” the runner said. “The reserve bank has used half its expected capacity. The temperature is below the red mark. She says the live estimate leaves a short route back, but the timer has not changed.”
Yan read the figures. The handwriting was Qinghe’s, with Gu’s initials beside the cutoff value. “Was the second coil checked?”
“Twice. Gu stayed at the handle while she watched both gauges.”
Yan nodded. He folded the paper, careful not to crease the values. The weak image had vanished from the gallery, but the runners could still move readings through the safe stair. There was no mystery in the relay failure and no reason to pretend the reserve had more time than it did.
The runner passed him another note, this one from Wei. The wall crews had kept their manual releases open. One district was dark, while the neighboring barriers remained lit. Ning’s shelters had water. Bai’s supply teams had reached the high road before the lower crossing flooded.
