Waddell tightened the left ankle strap, leaving enough slack for Tyree to turn his foot while the heel stayed against the cot.
Tyree tested it twice. The cot frame shifted on its bad wheel. His skin pulled beneath the canvas, and the buckle stayed clear of bone.
"Leave enough slack for me to recognize it."
"You keep enough movement to report, and I keep every release."
The right ankle took a second strap. Waddell crossed a broad canvas band over Tyree's shoulders and under the cot rail rather than his throat. The left wrist rested inside a folded towel before the final buckle closed.
His right forearm remained where it had been since the first pipe count, wrapped in the damp burn blanket. Char marked the outer canvas near his thumb. The steel rail beneath it carried two shallow dents from the exchange his hand had sent outside.
Tyree could move his head, fingers, knees, and toes. He could draw a full breath. He could complain, which mattered more than Waddell would admit.
