Sera changed the cloth beneath her hands and asked everyone to stop talking.
The central scar had begun to part.
Until then, the work had moved along surfaces they could see: wire through lining, packing under iron, a fold held against the wrong face. Here the injury ran into the branching structure beneath both voice folds. It was not a thing to pull out. Living strands entered it from either side, some flattened, some drawn together in the hard seam.
Iven held the adjustable crosspiece while Neri watched its lower seat.
Sera touched the edge with the blunt instrument.
A thin line of dark fluid appeared.
“Cloth.”
Vessa put it where she could reach without looking away.
