Transport?” Soo-min called, jogging back. “You want a sled or a cage on runners?”
“Neither,” Moira said. “He rides a grid.”
“A what?” Rafe asked.
“Copper lattice,” Moira said. “Crosshatched. If we try to box him we give the bindings corners to snag on. If we slide him like fabric, the net stays smooth.”
Soo-min was already pulling lengths of wire from a spool. “I can weld a frame and lash the rest. Four handles. Eight carriers. We move slow.”
“Wolves on the flanks,” Grayson said. “Two lines. If anything twitches that isn’t inside that shell, it loses the part that twitched.”
Soo-min shot him a look that was more respect than fear. “Copy.”
“Begin,” she said.
The first sound was breath: one long exhale, then another, a wave running the ring. Then the low tone they had used in the fig
