Two hours out from Cinder, Mara asked Sera to push the engine.
She had read Pell’s list by then. It had come through the Lorn relay in the night, forwarded from the yard: the shelter count, the blankets, the six names in pencil, the one with a question mark. And under it, Tavin’s notes, the disconnect order, bring the cut order and your own pliers. And the emergency powers notice, transcribed, with its owing to.
And the date. Day nine began in two hours. The cut was tomorrow, which was nearly today.
The brace was holding. Pell’s list said so: brace hours renewed, figure checked, ticked. Hearth had not dimmed. But Halvek had emergency powers and two guards on the yard gate, and Tavin was sitting on a crate with his oil can, and the cut was nearly on them.
“Push it,” Mara said. “Please. We’ve got the margin now. Odren’s fuel. Three corrections. We’ve only used one.”
Sera kept her eyes on the board.
“No,” she said.
“Sera—”
