He shuts his eyes, trying to obey. No killing blow comes, and Gaeta isn't sure if that makes the order to relax easier or more difficult to follow.

The sinking heaviness settles in his chest. All his arteries seem to turn to lead, tangling around his heart to pull downward like a fish struggling in a net. Pyotr's hand drags upward, and the leaden net rises with his grip. The hooks work deeper.

It feels --

It feels wrong the same way a joint feels wrong when it bends a way it shouldn't go. A queasiness, a discomfort that isn't physical... but that's all. He keeps breathing. Tries to keep his entire body still, as if the missing pain will suddenly arrive if he moves even an inch.

On the next upstroke, Gaeta coughs involuntarily.