The ceiling came down.
A massive slab, floor to ceiling, twenty meters ahead. Several tons of black stone blocking the only path between them and daylight.
They stopped.
The gap around the slab's edges was visible. So was the daylight beyond it. Both were real. Neither was large enough.
"I can't," Tank said. He looked at his burned hands. At the slab. Back at his hands. "Can't lift it."
Nobody argued. Nobody had a better option. The daylight was right there, visible around the edges of several tons of stone that had not consulted anyone about its destination before arriving there, and visible was not the same as reachable.
The bee lifted from Zeph's shoulder.
It rose to the slab's height and hovered before it, compound eyes oriented toward the stone with the same purposeful clarity they had brought to the Harvester. The wings vibrated at the Dimensional Anchor frequency.
