Day and night are nearly indistinguishable in this kind of weather, anyway, so Horvath’s schedule may not be in synch with the clock anymore. Living underground in his own world, his internal clock is unreliable under the best of conditions, which these are not. The important part is that while it may be night, he is there in the Plaza, available for healing, when the rumbling collapse of a nearby building happens.

For just a moment, it sounds a little bit like an avalanche, and he freezes in alarm. The sound is brief though, and by the time things are settling it’s clear from both the later noises and the shouts of people that a building has collapsed, rather than some nonexistent mountainside. He hobbles out of the tent where he was sipping hot tea between patients, and joins the handful of onlookers.

There are noises, from inside the huge mound of snow and shattered timbers. There are people still in there, and still alive. And the snow is still falling. Even collapsed, a building is still roughly the size of a building, and the snow adds mass. It’s an imposing hill, and no amount of shovels and weary hands are going to be enough. Horvath swears under his breath, and limps closer. “There are people alive inside. We need some strong arms and fast legs to get them out.” He can do the rest, but he’ll only be able to hold it for so long.

There’s a moment of drawing breath, and he sticks his cane in the snow and plants his feet. Then both hands rise, and with a few gestures that vaguely look like he’s miming washing a window in slow motion, masses of timber and snow begin to shift and rise, slowly, moving like invisible giant hands are holding them up. It’s going to take some careful work to clear safe paths, and he’s praying he doesn’t hurt anyone inside by accident, but this is the best chance they’re going to get.