---
The lane held its breath, then remembered that it did not have one. For a long half–second, all John could hear was the slow drum in his own chest and the soft buzz of the void finally pleased with a job it had been made for.
He put his hand down. The ball shrank obediently, settled, thinned, and was gone. The tremor in his wrist stayed. He let it. He did not look away from Brann's face. He did not like this. He did not pretend he did. He kept his own breath steady and did not throw up in the gutter like another boy might have. He just stood there and knew that there was a line behind him now that had not been there a minute ago.
Edda had stopped smiling. For the first time since they had met her, her eyes showed something other than sport. There was fear there, yes, and anger, but also a quick thinking that had kept her alive in ugly rooms for years.
She backed up one step. Her hand rose for the bell again.
