He pulled the chain free as the cover grated above and cold fingers found his calf.
Gavin stamped without looking—heel to knuckles, then the saber's guard to shin. The water gave back a small splash and a softer noise like a man learning that hands weren't plans.
"Open," he breathed.
He lifted the grill four inches—no more—and held it with the flat so the hinge wouldn't talk. The woman went first, sideways; her braid snagged and un-snagged because she paid with thread, not skin. The kid poured after, small enough to cheat corners. The crouched man became paper and slid.
"Big," Gavin said.
Madison made himself narrow where physics said no. The grill taxed him a button; he paid with thread again. He was through.
Gavin followed, blade crosswise, heel already ready for any hand that had learned a new shape. A shadow dropped onto the ladder above—boots, then knees, then a chest committed to the wrong career. The cage coughed rust. The body made the last three rungs into one and tried to be down too fast.
"Hold," Gavin told the grill—himself—and let the drop miss where a head had been a breath ago. Madison met the arrival with geometry: poker to shin, then ankle, then let concrete take credit. The body learned sitting.
Gavin set the grill back onto its seat like a secret and fed the chain through its own brag without letting it sing. The lock kept sleeping. The water kept its opinions.
"Left wall," he said. "Hands. Little steps."
The branch narrowed at once—roof low, the floor's trickle turning from nuisance to ankle. Moss slicked the seam; his palm read it and never tried to teach it. The kid's breath wanted to stutter; the woman's rhythm made a copy he could own. Madison's engine dropped a gear and worked quiet.
They bent around a patch job that had never been inspected. Rust tasted like pennies in teeth. The saber's guard kissed the roof once; he starved the note with flesh. Behind, the grill took polite weight and then learned about patience.
"Don't stand," Gavin whispered. "Belly math."
The pipe throated into a side slit where a maintenance grate had once believed in bolts. Two of four remained; the panel sat kinked like a bad smile, lip proud of the concrete by half an inch.
"Lip," Madison murmured.
"Saber," Gavin said, and fed the flat under the proud edge to lift angle, not steel. The panel breathed up the width of four fingers.
"Order," he said. "Woman, kid, paper, big. I'm rear."
The woman took the slit, shoulder first, fingertips reading the far edge. The kid followed, palms and knees civilized by fear. The crouched man made himself an envelope and mailed through. Madison exhaled the man out of himself and went anyway.
Behind, something tried to speed-learn the bent route and scraped knuckles loudly enough to feel like news. Gavin slid, pulled the saber's guard free, and let the panel settle just enough to make the world small for whoever came next.
The branch widened to a rectangle with a miser's ledge—six inches at knee height along the left wall. Dry, barely.
"Ledge," Gavin breathed. "Up left. Hips away from slick."
They took it: feet flat, hands to wall, backs to air. Water said no plans and went on with its trickle. For three breaths, they owned a geometry that wasn't trying to edit them.
"Any bites?" he asked, knowing and hating the ritual.
"No," the woman said.
"No," the kid said, like a password.
"Clean," Madison said, and didn't waste syllables.
"Paper?"
"Whole," the crouched man said.
"Good," Gavin said, which meant nothing and everything. We're still here. "Cadence: two small, one long. Don't chase fear."
They moved. The ledge died at a seam; the floor came up and stole ankles again. Ahead, a faint sodium haze leaked into the culvert from a slot that lived under a road—light that turned people into cutouts even when it was tired. [CHECK: underpass light]
Road meant stage. Behind, the water learned new hands—slaps placed instead of scrambled. Quiet men teach quiet men.
"Cold," Madison breathed.
"Cold," Gavin said back. "Not road." He pointed left, away from the underpass slot, toward the deeper, darker branch that promised only stone and the city's throat.
The deeper branch offered a mouth no taller than his chest—a shallow siphon [CHECK: siphon clearance], roof two feet above water, floor clean concrete sliding down then up. Not a swim. Not comfortable.
"Only way," the woman said, no panic in it.
"Breathe out," Gavin told them. "Cheek to roof, one hand forward, other on wall. If panic starts, press your tongue to your teeth. Panic listens to teeth."
"Copy," Madison said, and somehow smiled with his voice.
Light painted the underpass slot ahead like a lie somebody hoped they wanted. A beam raked it once, low, polite as ever, as if a man were showing them a menu. Theo didn't speak. He didn't need to.
Behind, weight found the grill again and then decided to wait. Patience moved water in small plans.
"Order," Gavin said. "Woman, kid, paper, big. I'm rear. On my count."
He put his palm to the shallow roof and memorized its temperature. He pressed his cheek to it to prove it would hold a face. It did. He heard the kid's breath learn a new size. Good, he thought. Hold that size.
"Three," he said.
The woman took the siphon, ribs reading ribs. The water slid around her ear and forgot her. The kid went next—breath out, shoulder grazing roof, sound small and proud. The crouched man folded time and passed. Madison made himself impossible and answered physics politely until physics respected him.
Gavin looked once at the underpass slot, where sodium turned gravel into coins; once at the rear, where the grill was a closed mouth with a story to tell; then pressed his cheek to cold and gave the siphon his lungs.
He slid under—the world a thin line between roof and water, a swallow held on a string. The saber rode his forearm, flat, a bar that belonged. The city's hum went inside his head.
Halfway, attackers at both ends decided to change the count: behind, weight hit the grill; ahead, a low flashlight raked the slot like a decision.
Don't chase fear, he told the part of him that wanted big air. Win seconds. Stack them.
He finished the slide, mouth gentle under the roof, and came up into a pocket of deeper dark where five bodies could breathe once.
"Good," he said softly. "Same again. On three we go—"
He heard, not saw, the grill behind give a satisfied metal note; the underpass slot's light angled; water in the siphon mouthed his ankle as if it, too, had opinions.
"—now."
They ducked for the next run while the culvert on both sides decided to open at once.