The maneuver is, apparently, successful. The staggered cry that cuts itself off in a pained, strangled sound is unendurable, and it is even more unbearable than the knowledge, the full knowledge that she asked this of him and he executed this and this should be sufficient in preventing any neurological or neuromuscular or nervous damage, it should be because it has to be.

Asadi begins fading almost immediately. The pain must be immense. It must be. The arm is still and functionless at her side, its internal wiring fucking devastated by his own hand and by the Rift's, and he does not look up at Greta he simply continues to work quickly and logically and works one arm beneath her back to carefully pull her upright.

"She'll be fine," he assures Greta, his words a brusque, ideally calming assessment. "We're getting her out. She's gonna be fine."