I could have sworn I posted this, but maybe not. Still, I'm role flipping to the max here. It's super fun:
âYou should get your datapad.â Luke fit the magna specs over his head. âThisâll take a while.â
âItâs just the hand.â
âIâm going to do the whole arm.â He didnât look up as he reached to clasp her wrist and scanned the arm over. âLast thing you need is your forearm locking mid-use.â
âI could have the techs do it.â
She didnât want that and he knew it.
âThey wonât do as good a job as I will.âÂ
She knew that too. He could see it in the faint shift in her posture.
He lowered the specs. The world sharpened into layers of detailâthe faint scoring along the finger joints, micro-abrasions along the casing, a hairline gap at the base of the thumb assembly where the alignment had shifted just enough to matter.
Luke paused at the wrist, testing the joint again. He didnât force itâjust applied pressure, enough to read how it answered.Â
âThereâs a little misalignment here too,â he murmured half to himself when the resistance came back clean. Each time he cycled it manually he ran into the same limitation; it had no uneven give, no internal hesitation in the feedback. Whatever had happened to her hand hadnât reached deeper systems. It had stayed where he could reach it.Â
âBad?â Mara asked tightly.
The misalignment could be a little tricky. Luke adjusted his grip at her wrist and rotated it a fraction, gently, carefully watching how the housing tracked against itself as he read the response through the joint. He flicked his eyes up to Mara, but she wasnât reacting in any physical wayâno pullback through the shoulder, no tightening in her breathingâand through their connection there was awareness, guarded, but nothing that registered as pain or strain.
StillâŠâUncomfortable?âÂ
âNo,â she answered quickly, leaning slightly towards him. âJust a little weird.â
Luke went back to the hand. The thumb assembly lagged slightly behind the rest of the frame, just enough to throw the natural line off. Not damageâshift. Something had taken load while it was locked and forced it out of true.
Luke steadied the forearm against the table and applied controlled counter-pressure at the joint, carefully guiding it into its correct seating. There was resistance at first, from packed grit and stress in the coupling, but he held it there until it yielded with a faint, dry click. The alignment settled back into place under his hands.
He tested it again. This time the thumb tracked cleanly with the rest of her hand.
âI should have done this before you left,â he muttered. âWe need to get on a schedule.â
âWeâve been busy,â she said in a gentle tone that made him think sheâd read the self reproof.
He picked up the compressed air wand and angled it into the knuckle seams. âYeah, but this is important. Like all the conditioning you do.â
A flicker of embarrassment crossed her awareness as Mara watched him work. âI guess Iâm not used to it.â
âWe arenât,â he said emphatically. âWeâll get there.â
Luke triggered the air in short bursts. Fine dust lifted at once, spilling out in pale streams from the joints and settling across the table. He worked from her fingertip to the base, rotating each segment only as far as it would allow, clearing the compacted grit in stages instead of forcing anything loose.
Once the worst of it was out, he set the air aside and reached for the cleaning solution. As he worked the fluid into the seams the remaining residue softened and broke free.
Up close, the darker staining became harder to ignore. Dried blood. It had settled along the plating edges and into the articulation points, not just surface contact but driven deep where the joints had been working. Some was fresh, some wasnât. It had been there long enough to bond to the metal in places, worn thin where movement had scraped it away and preserved where it had been trapped.
He kept his focus on the work and not what it represented, pressing the cloth into the seams until it came away stained and heavy. Using another when it was too stained. Then another.
The smell rose faintlyâmetallic, stale, cut through with solvent.
He felt Mara tense immediately, her presence drawing inward. âI heard there was a scuffle at the docks before we got there.âÂ
âLike you said,â Luke replied. âToo much strain. You got back in time.â
He adjusted her hand again, checking the wrist alignment a second time now that it was seated correctly. The fingers were still held in that partial curl, but the structure beneath them now tracked properly when he tested it.
âShould be better,â he said.
He switched to a finer tool, working it into the knuckle seams again, drawing out what the air hadnât reached. It came free in compacted fragments, enough to clear the articulation without stressing the housing.
He paused briefly at the base of her thumb where the residue had packed hardest. Clearly she had used it at close range, under load, long enough for material to be forced into the joint itself.
For a second he could almost hear his uncleâs voice, like this was just another broken moisture pump.Â
That there? Thatâs not dirt sitting loose. Thatâs compressed into the housing. Means it got there while it was moving, while it was closed up tight. You donât get that from standing back and swinging at air, son. Think about it. Jointâs fully flexed, held under load, sustained contactâorganic material, pressure, time.
Repeated use in close range, while the joint stayed engaged. While it stayed closed around something desperately working against it. Someone.
Mara sat straight, her other hand resting in her lap. Her gaze stayed angled away from him, fixed on the table rather than his face.
Unbidden he thought of Maraâs squared shoulders yesterday, her saying, You were right about Teeth.
Luke didnât ask what theyâd done out there. He didnât need to dive into their connection to feel the weight of it, pressed down. And he understood enough about the horrors of this life to not want to push into her mind for it even without feeling her resistance. That would make it worse.
Besides, he didnât care.
Her hand in his grip twitched once when he shifted pressure, a small involuntary response. He set the tool down carefully.
âYou wonât go on the next one,â he said, still looking at Maraâs handâthe bare mechanical frame resting in his grip, fingers now moving cleanly but still too exposed, every joint and linkage visible. Someday it'd look like her hand in his again, he promised himself.
His voice stayed even, leaving no room for argument. âThey know the route now. They donât need an alarm.â
Quietly, he added, âI need you with me. I donât trust anyone but you.â
Mara met his eyes and gave a small nod, but it didnât ease the tension in her shoulders.
