The pink anchor took the weight and made Yun-Jin pay for every inch.
The strand ran from her wrist to the service pin, across the crooked brick wall, and into the receiver frame beside Daemon's cut. It looked thin enough to snap under a finger. It held like wire buried in muscle.
Yun-Jin kept her feet apart and her knees bent.
"The anchor is holding against the receiver frame," Blue said. "Do not give it more pressure than she can bleed."
"I appreciate being measured in responsible amounts today," Yun-Jin said.
JJ kept one hand on the case and one hooked in Yun-Jin's belt.
"You start falling and I am using the case as a crutch against you."
"The corpse box and I are becoming close," Yun-Jin said.
Ty flexed the hand that had finally come free of the service pin. Two fingers moved. One scraped. One stayed curled until he cracked it against the rail and shook cooked powder from the joint.
The pink strand tightened as the receiver tested it.
