The first attempt ended before I thought it had begun.
"Stop there," Veylan said.
I was sitting against folded blankets with my right arm supported on a cushion. The duty healer watched the small measuring plate beside my wrist. Its light had moved less than the width of my smallest fingernail. I looked at the plate.
"That was barely anything."
"It was enough to reach the damaged section."
Veylan kept a finger on the diagram from the primer. We weren't trying to produce a release. No new pressure at the core. No attempt to reach the palm. I was supposed to let the existing disturbance settle through the small return I could still control, then stop before the path tightened again.
The work sounded like doing less. My body treated it as an unreasonable demand.
A deep ache followed the cold toward the elbow. When I tried to hurry it, the plate brightened at the wrong edge. Veylan saw the change before I spoke.
"Leave it room."
