"You should conserve your strength."
"For interrogation?"
"No. For regret."
Arthur pressed his boot down a little harder, and the conductor bit back a sound.
Good.
Abi's fingers moved over the red threads, slowly, not tearing, untangling. The first thread loosened from Toma's wrist, and a faint note escaped, not sung by the boy but by the air around him, sounding like a door opening somewhere far away. The second thread came free, the red bell above him trembling. The third, and Toma's body stiffened.
I placed one hand on the back of his chair. "Breathe," I said.
He tried. Failed. Tried again. Succeeded, barely.
The fourth thread snapped loose, and with it came a whisper, a woman's voice. "Again."
Toma began shaking. I'd heard enough. My aura pressed into the chair, not into the boy, into the object holding him. The wood cracked, the silver nails beneath the armrest loosened, and the last threads went slack. Abi caught them before they could recoil into the bell.
