The trace inside Ferra's ward pin started fading while it still pointed beneath the western archive.
Hajin watched the bearing slide past the prayer's channels toward foundations below, while Ferra pinned its angle with caliper contact. Both recorders witnessed the reading beside their commission's continuation order, and the evidence stayed sealed as she carried it downstairs.
"Don't you dare die before you finish pointing, you stupid little needle," he muttered at the holder.
"Stop yelling at my evidence."
She locked the angle into her survey slate without opening a single circuit through the pin.
"The trace belonged to the destroyed presence," she said, squinting at the dwindling reading, "the metal stays when that fades, but this bearing won't."
"So we're chasing a dead tin can's last breath down a staircase, fantastic."
Hajin flashed the corridor copy at the western gate, his right arm slung and Phase Lock dead for the day.
