The scratch came again from inside the first ice shelter.
Ty stopped with his wrapped hand lifted against his chest. The case rolled one more inch before the rail caught and held. Cold pressed through his coat and sank straight into the split lines of his palm. The pain changed shape there, sharper and slower, as if the mark had been packed with snow.
JJ moved between him and the shelter door.
"If something climbs out of the worker igloo, I am charging the building rent," she said. "Nobody gets free intimidation after the blood room."
Blue crouched beside the case and checked the rail. Frost had gathered around the guide wheels in white curls. The case glass fogged near the old skull, then cleared, then fogged again with each push of air from the hall.
The scratch came from the shelter wall, low and steady, repeating in a simple pattern of scrape, pause, scrape.
Ty looked through the round doorway. The shelter was empty except for a bench, a hook rack, and a wall plate half buried under ice. The plate moved whenever the pressure changed from the open lock behind them. Its corner dragged against the ice block beside it.
"It is a loose plate, not a person," Ty said. "The room is using fear because the cheaper tools broke."
"Fear is a tool with terrible maintenance history," JJ said. "Blue, please tell me the loose plate opens something useful."
Blue stepped into the shelter with Marcus’s bit held like a small knife. The air inside looked colder because every surface had gone white. Worker marks had been cut into the bench. Names, numbers, tallies, and one crooked drawing of a cup with steam above it.
Blue cleared frost from the moving plate with her sleeve.
"This shelter has a heat share valve behind the plate," Blue said. "The plate is scraping because the valve is trying to open and the ice has pinned the edge."
"Heat share sounds almost kind for this place," JJ said. "I expect the next sentence to ruin that."
Blue looked around the shelter, then out at the other domes. Six ice shelters lined the hall, three on each side of the rail. Small pipes ran from each shelter roof into a central line above the case. The central line fed into the rail ahead, where frost had built into a hard ridge across both tracks.
"The kind version is that every shelter gives a little heat to keep the rail clear," Blue said. "The ruined version is that one locked valve makes the whole hall freeze."
Ty flexed his wrapped fingers and wished he had avoided looking. The cloth had already stiffened where blood met cold. He could feel the pressure lock behind him, quiet now, and the frozen rail ahead, stubborn as a shut jaw.
"The case stops here until the heat line wakes," Ty said. "The rail is pushing forward, but the ice ridge is holding the wheels."
JJ glanced at his raised hand and narrowed her eyes.
"You are banned from touching strange valves with the bleeding miracle hand," she said. "Use the other hand for bad ideas until further notice."
"My other hand has started requesting safer company," Ty said. "I am ignoring it with respect for everyone’s safety."
Blue put Marcus’s bit into the plate slot and pried. The plate moved a finger width, then caught. A small copper paddle behind it trembled. The scratch became faster, eager and irritating.
The case shivered on the rail as the old straps clicked.
The old body inside shifted against the straps. Frost gathered along the inside corner of the glass where the skull faced the shelter. Ty felt the claimant mark pulse, faint under the bandage, then pull toward the copper paddle.
He stayed outside the doorway while Blue worked the plate.
"The mark wants that valve open through the shelter plate," Ty said. "It feels like the rail is asking through the shelter."
"The rail can learn patience from the rest of us," JJ said. "Blue works better when nobody bleeds on her project."
Blue leaned her shoulder against the plate and pried again. The copper paddle jumped free with a click. Warmth touched the shelter floor, weak but real. The roof pipe above them knocked once, and a little line of meltwater ran down the ice blocks.
The central pipe over the rail stayed cold.
"One shelter awake, and five still asleep behind us," Blue said. "If the title is honest, the nation part matters."
"That means we have to wake the whole village," Ty said. "The case can wait if the frost stays at the wheels."
The case answered by creaking forward against the ice ridge.
JJ looked at it with open dislike that promised future violence.
"The case has rejected your calm schedule from the wheels already," she said. "We wake the village before it breaks its own ankles."
They moved shelter by shelter with the case waiting behind them.
The second dome had a door frozen halfway open. JJ kicked the lower edge twice, then used her sword as a pry bar. The door cracked loose with a sound like a board splitting. Inside, the heat plate had been covered by a hanging coat so old the fabric came apart when Blue touched it.
Blue found the valve under the coat and freed it.
The roof pipe knocked once above the second shelter.
The third shelter had a bench tipped against the wall. Ty saw the problem before Blue reached it. The bench pinned the heat plate shut, and the frost around the legs had locked it to the floor. He put his good shoulder to the bench and pushed.
Pain ran through his wrapped hand when he pushed too hard.
"Use your legs, not the dramatic injured posture," JJ said. "I refuse to explain your death to a bench."
"The bench is heavier than it looks and politically committed," Ty said. "I welcome immediate assistance from sword-based government if available."
JJ wedged her blade under the bench leg and lifted. Ty pushed at the same time. The ice cracked around the legs. The bench slid two inches and revealed the heat plate. Blue worked the valve until the third pipe knocked above them.
The hall changed after the third valve opened fully.
The cold still bit, but it lost its grip on Ty’s teeth. Water ticked from the central pipe. The frost ridge ahead softened at the edges, turning from white to clear, then back to white where the old cold fought the new warmth.
The case rolled until the front wheels touched the ridge.
"Half awake, and the frozen rail is getting impatient," Blue said. "The rail may try to climb the ridge if we take too long."
"Do rails learn patience anywhere, or is that banned by trade law?" JJ asked. "Every floor in this place has ambition and bad manners."
The fourth shelter smelled like old smoke when JJ opened it. The inside wall had black scars around the heat plate. Someone had once fired the valve too hot and cracked the ice blocks around it. The plate sat loose, but the pipe above it had been bent shut by the old repair.
Blue touched the bend with her glove and swore quietly.
"This one can send heat, but the pipe is folded almost closed," Blue said. "If I force it cold, it may split."
"Can we warm it from the working shelters before we bend it?" Ty asked. "The central line is carrying a little heat now."
Blue looked at the pipe, then at the central line, then at the old fat jar still hanging from her belt by its handle.
"I hate that the butter jar still has a career," Blue said. "A thin smear on the bend may stop the ice from biting while I move it."
JJ stared at the jar as if it had betrayed nature.
"That jar has survived too many promotions for a jar," she said. "I dislike respected dairy in crisis work under legal protest."
Blue scraped the last usable fat with Marcus’s bit and spread it over the folded pipe. The fat went cloudy at once. She waited until the central line sent another weak knock through the roof, then pressed the bit into the bend and pulled.
The pipe moved, then held while everyone waited.
It also groaned loudly enough for Ty to step back.
Blue froze with both hands on the bit.
"Nobody breathe heroic thoughts at the pipe while I hold it," Blue said. "It is deciding whether to punish us with a grudge."
The pipe settled, and the fourth roof line knocked.
The case rolled another inch against the ridge. Clear water ran under the front wheels. The old body inside the glass shifted forward by the smallest amount, as if the rail’s patience had entered the straps.
Ty kept his wrapped hand high and watched the fifth shelter.
Its doorway had no door left on the hinges.
Inside, worker tags hung from the roof in a tight cluster. The tags moved in the cold draft, touching each other with small metal clicks. Names showed on some. Numbers showed on others. A few had been scraped blank.
The heat plate sat behind the tags where each name passed.
JJ slowed at the threshold before crossing into the shelter.
"I dislike blank tags more than locked doors," she said. "Locked doors tell you who built them. Blank tags tell you who got erased."
Ty stepped beside her. The mark in his bandaged palm pulsed once, but the pull was smaller here. The room wanted the valve open. It also seemed to wait for the tags to move first.
"The plate is behind the names on purpose," Ty said. "The workers had to clear their tags before heat opened."
"Accountability or punishment wearing the same old uniform?" Blue asked. "This place keeps making those look related when workers are trapped."
Ty looked at the blank tags. His hand hurt. The old body waited in glass behind him, carried by rails and rooms that still tried to decide what people were allowed to be.
"Both, probably, because this hall loves ugly answers," he said. "We move the tags without taking them from the plate."
JJ used the flat of her sword to lift the whole cluster. Blue reached under with Marcus’s bit and opened the valve behind them. Heat moved into the pipe with a stronger knock than the others. The blank tags clattered once, then settled.
The fifth line woke, and the ridge ahead sagged.
Water ran down both sides of the rail. The case eased forward until the front wheels pressed into the softened ice. Ty put his good hand on the frame and felt the rail strain.
"One shelter left, and the ridge is weakening," Blue said. "The last one is on the right, and of course it is the smallest."
The sixth dome sat closer to the far door than the others. Its doorway had been packed with ice from the inside. A small viewing slit had been carved through the block, just wide enough for a pair of eyes.
No eyes waited there, only old tool marks.
Only a red-painted lever handle, frozen halfway up.
JJ bent to look through the slit until her cheek nearly touched ice.
"Someone sealed this one from inside the hall side," JJ said. "That feels less like shelter and more like a punishment room."
Blue scraped frost from the outer block. The marks under it were rougher than the worker labels elsewhere. Someone had carved them in anger, deep enough to leave broken edges.
"Last heat share is behind the sealed door," Blue said. "The lever is visible, but the wall is too thick for Marcus’s bit."
Ty looked at the softened ridge ahead. The case pushed against it, slow and stubborn. The rail would break the ice eventually, or break itself trying.
His wrapped hand pulsed under the stiff cloth.
The sixth lever pulsed back from inside the ice.
That was new and worse than ordinary pressure.
"The last valve is tied to anger behind that sealed block," Ty said. "I can feel it through the mark, like pressure but hotter."
JJ looked at him with all humor gone from her face.
"Please say that in a version where nobody feeds the building a tantrum," she said. "I have many available, and I charge extra."
Ty shook his head and kept his hand up.
"It is not asking for a tantrum the way a room asks for fuel," he said. "It is asking why the door stayed sealed."
Blue stepped closer to the carved marks. She read them with her thumb, tracing cuts where frost had softened.
"These are worker complaints with numbers carved beneath them," Blue said. "Heat debt, double shift, locked rest, docked rations."
JJ’s face changed before she touched the sealed door.
The practical anger arrived first. Quiet. Useful. The kind she kept folded until something deserved the edge.
"Open the line from outside before the case reaches that ridge," JJ said. "If the room wants anger, it can have the part that fixes the door."
The ice around the sixth lever cracked under the sound of her voice.
A warmer color woke behind the sealed block, low and red through the slit.
The worker sign above the sixth shelter, hidden until meltwater cleared the frost, read Fired up anger.