Steam hung low like a thin curtain. It caught the glow from Rodion's board and folded it back into the bone, making a small private room around the team. The Ascensorium Heart settled under them with a new, steady hum—like a careful chest that had learned how to breathe without complaint. On the board, green safe-dots blinked like calm fireflies. Modest orange shaded the no-arc zones. At the bottom a crooked breath ribbon rose and fell, refusing to be a song.
Mikhailis lifted an eyebrow at the board. "I only fix things that ask nicely."
A few soldiers smiled without showing teeth. The nurse captain's shoulders loosened by a thumb's width. The small sounds—leather settling, buckles easing, a quiet throat being cleared—folded into the steam and did not echo.
