Elara put her left hand over the injured one after the fourth strike.
Her right fingers hit the table again beneath her palm.
One.
Two.
Four.
The movement drove pain from her wrist into the shoulder that no longer held a reliable relation to its brace.
Kikaru entered the opaque room without opening a field screen.
"Do you want me to hold the hand?"
"No. Put the sand bag across the forearm. Leave my fingers visible."
Kikaru set the bag where Elara pointed with her working hand. Its weight stopped the elbow from lifting. The fingers continued against the table.
No rhythm came through the room speakers. The speakers had no power.
At Foundry Twelve, three bands of Caleb's retained silver crawled toward the open holes at his hip.
His small rail brace carried the missing left side. The brace did not move.
The silver did.
Sela Orr brought a wooden rule close without touching him.
Eight millimeters of movement.
Then eleven.
