The Broken Hinge Cried Only at One A.M.

The broken hinge cried only at one in the morning, and quietly. The moment Serena reached for the nail, Cassian took the hammer from her. "I'll handle the heavy work." "Carrying every heavy thing alone is also a monopoly on authority."

At midnight on the fourteenth day, powder snow pushed in through the gap in the common room's north door, one thin line at a time.

The room had cooled during the day's remote heat control test and returned to the standard temperature, but when the night wind shifted, the loose door pushed against the heat reflector plate. The thin metal panel was what redirected the fire's heat toward the ward instead of letting it escape into an empty corridor. Every time the upper hinge gapped open, the plate scraped against the doorframe.

Left alone, the heat that had warmed the ward would leak out before dawn.

The duty artisan Ilma was resting. It was a night meant to be fully cleared for one shift, per the conditions written on Noah's failure board. Yoren had also gone to sleep after the snow bridge rescue. Serena opened the on-duty repair list without waking either of them.

"Tighten the hinge, restore the plate position, replace the cloth in the door gap. Just those three. Carving a new axle is daytime work."

Cassian already had the toolbox in hand.

"Two nails will finish it."

"If you just drive the nails, it'll gap open again. You have to support the plate's weight while you align the hinge."

"Then I'll hold the plate."

He braced the underside of the plate with one hand and picked up the hammer with the other. Serena, reaching for the nail pouch, looked down at her empty hand.

"You're going to hold the plate and swing the hammer at the same time?"

"I can manage it."

"I asked if it's safe."

Cassian didn't answer. His gloved right hand gripped the hammer handle too tightly. The first strike landed true. On the second, the iron head grazed past the nail. The reflector plate rang, and someone inside the ward coughed.

Serena caught the hammer handle. She didn't cover his hand, just pressed down on the end of the shaft.

"Stop."

"I'll quiet the noise down."

"The rule we made today isn't only for the child's device."

She set a small hourglass on the floor. The three minute one Noah had left on the workbench.

"Setting the nail, supporting the plate, checking the time. We split those three roles. We switch every five minutes."

"There are only two of us."

"One person takes two roles, but never holds the hammer and the weight together."

"An auditor bracing a metal plate all night is a waste of her duties."

"And a regent ruining tomorrow's shift over one hinge, isn't that a waste too?"

Cassian's gaze dropped to Serena's hand. A thin bandage was wrapped around the palm she'd scraped during the snow bridge rescue.

"You mean to hold nails with that hand?"

"I'll use the fingers without bandages to hold the tongs. If there's pain, I'll say so and switch. The same condition applies to you."

Cassian didn't smile. Instead he set the toolbox down on the floor. He kept the hammer on his own side.

In the first shift, Cassian only supported the plate's weight. Serena set the short nails with the tongs and pushed a wooden wedge under the hinge. There was a plate between them, but the space was narrow enough for their shoulders to touch.

"A little to the left," Serena said.

"I'm looking at the plate, not the door."

"I'm looking at the hinge axle. One finger's width toward you."

Cassian shifted the plate. The metal edge grazed Serena's sleeve. He stopped instantly.

"Are you hurt?"

"Just the cloth, barely."

"I'll check."

"I already checked."

Cassian's hand rose, then stopped. He didn't roll up her sleeve. Serena didn't read that pause as anything more than permission withheld or granted.

"Next nail."

Once the nail was halfway in, the hinge's crying grew quieter. Serena flipped the hourglass over and checked the five minute mark.

"We switch roles."

"I can still hold it."

"That's not the standard."

Cassian didn't let go of the plate.

"If I set it down even once, the position will shift."

"The wedge will hold it."

"You trust the wedge?"

"I trust the person who placed the wedge and the person who checked it."

"That's you, both times."

"Then you check it now."

Serena pulled her hand out from under the plate and stepped back. Cassian could have kept holding it and finished alone. The repair might have gotten done, but the role rotation would have disappeared. After a moment, he bent his knees and lowered the plate slowly onto the wedge.

The metal didn't fall.

Cassian pushed on both sides of the wedge with his hand.

"It's holding."

"Then I'll support the plate."

"Your hand, "

"I'll speak up if there's pain."

Serena wedged her shoulder under the plate. The weight was lighter than she'd expected. Cassian had been carrying more of the strain alone than the thin plate itself accounted for.

Cassian took up the nail. His right hand, holding the hammer, trembled faintly the closer it got to the fire. Even though the flame didn't spark up much, he drew his body back half a step.

"I'll take the nails," Serena said.

"I'm holding the plate."

"I can push the tongs with my foot."

"That's not necessary."

Cassian missed the first strike. The hammer hit the doorframe. He immediately tried to swing again.

Serena tapped the floor twice instead of ringing the stop bell.

Cassian stopped.

"That signal belongs to Noah."

"We wrote today that anyone can call a stop."

"I'm not a patient."

"I'm not trying to treat you either. I'm asking how much working time you have left right now."

His jaw tightened.

"It doesn't affect my work."

"You've missed the nail twice now."

"I'm tired, that's all."

"That could be true. It could also have something to do with how long you're using your right hand near the fire."

"Are you trying to dig into my past?"

"No."

Serena set the plate back down on the wedge. With both their hands off it, she spoke.

"I'm not asking why the wound happened, or what it looks like. I'm only asking what's needed for safety right now. How long you can use the hammer near the fire. The signal that comes before the pain does. Who takes over instead."

Cassian tucked his gloved hand behind his back.

"And if I choose not to answer?"

"Then tonight I use the hammer and you support the end of the plate away from the fire. Next time, we assign a second person."

"You've already decided the outcome."

"I've only decided the outcome that doesn't force an answer out of you."

Wind at the end of the corridor pushed against the door. The plate on the wedge trembled slightly. Serena didn't grab it in his place. She waited for him to choose his own role.

"Ten minutes."

Cassian said.

"I won't work near the fire for longer than ten minutes."

"And the pain signal?"

"I'll let go of the hammer handle."

"Before you drop it."

"I'll ask to switch."

Serena wrote the sentence down in a small box on the record board. Cassian, looking displeased, put his name to it. Work near fire, ten minutes. Request to switch before right hand tremor. Second attendant required for the next repair.

"Don't write down my past."

"I'm only writing what was said just now."

The third shift began. Serena took the hammer, and Cassian supported the end of the plate farther from the fire. Every time Serena tapped the nail lightly twice, Cassian adjusted the plate's angle by a finger's width.

"You're hitting too hard."

"Trying to take it from me?"

"It's advice."

"Turn it into advice I actually asked for."

The corner of Cassian's mouth moved, just slightly.

"Would you use half the force, auditor?"

Serena struck the same nail more gently. This time the hinge axle went in straight.

They tried opening and closing the door, and the crying was gone. The heat reflector tilted toward the ward, sending the firelight back where it belonged. When they pushed new cloth into the door gap, the line of snow powder on the floor stopped too.

Cassian let go of the plate's end. His hand was close to Serena's. Right before their knuckles touched, his right hand trembled faintly.

He didn't move it behind the plate to hide it.

"Switch with me."

Serena took over the weight of the plate without taking his share away from him. Cassian stepped back and flipped the hourglass. Until the request and the switch were both finished, neither of them apologized.

At two thirty in the morning, the repair record listed a person before it listed the cost of materials. Serena, nail setting and hammer. Cassian, plate support and angle checks. Three shift rotations. No call for the duty artisan. The following day's daytime inspection assigned to Ilma and one assistant.

"Was not waking Ilma a success?" Cassian asked.

"It's a success if the ward heat holds and our next shift doesn't collapse."

"You're supposed to go out for the morning audit."

"I pushed it back an hour. Doran is covering."

Cassian didn't look at his own schedule.

"Who's covering your next shift?" Serena asked.

"There's no need."

The weight they had just shared a moment ago tilted back toward his side alone.

"We split the repair, but you're doing the perimeter patrol alone again?"

"Guarding the manor's perimeter is the regent's responsibility."

"A title doesn't mean you only have one body."

"We're short on outer staff."

"Yoren is resting, and I'm not saying we should break that rest. You could shorten the patrol area, or leave the snow bridge side under lockdown."

"You want me to cut back security the day after we lost a record?"

Cassian's voice hardened again. The title returned to the space between shoulders that had just been close together.

Serena didn't bring out his patrol schedule.

"You choose. Assign a substitute, shorten the area, or make a public record that today's repair lowered patrol quality."

"An auditor turns every bit of fatigue into a question of authority."

"A regent turns every bit of authority into his own fatigue."

Neither of them spoke for a while. The fixed door was quiet, and the ward's temperature marker stayed above the standard line.

Cassian looked away first.

"I'll keep the west snow bridge area under lockdown. I'll ask Bern to take the inner patrol."

"Is that a request or an order?"

"A request he can refuse."

That was a small step forward. Not the finished agreement the repair had been. Serena left a checkmark instead of a mark for success.

By the corridor window sat two cups of tea that had gone cold overnight. When Cassian picked one up, his gloved fingers paused around the rim. Serena didn't take the cup from him. She poured warm tea from the kitchen thermos into a new cup and set it beside his.

"This isn't treatment," Cassian said.

"It's a drink after a shift."

"Not an order either?"

"Choose whether to drink it."

Serena picked up only her own cup and turned away first. Behind her, she heard porcelain clink once. She didn't turn back to check which cup he'd taken.

Under the repair board, a sentence remained, written by Cassian's own hand.

"Ask to switch."

Below it, the patrol shift box was still empty.