The ward held twenty-two wounded on canvas mats, and not one recovery bed remained that would answer to a living hand. Every powered frame in the room had gone dark the moment Merek signed away Mercy's remote authority.
Nox stood at the transfer boundary where the dungeon still tried to move injury from body to body. The wound-reassignment field pressed against the sealed line like water testing a cracked wall, looking for the next open host.
Emilia worked the first mat without waiting for permission or a supply that was not coming. She packed the torn shoulder with root fiber and a rinsed sheet of monster membrane, holding both closed by hand.
"The membrane holds if we keep it wet with the patient's own mana," she said, pressing the seal closed, "it fails the moment we borrow anything that carries an outside serial."
