Vane reached the access point for the Upper District ten minutes ahead of the purge wave. It was a bridge. Specifically, it was a rusted iron catwalk suspended over a dark, churning chasm of machinery. Below, gears the size of houses ground against each other with a sound that vibrated in the teeth. Above, the smog cleared just enough to show the flickering neon lights of the Foundry District.
It was the only way up.
Vane tested the railing. It rattled under his touch. He looked at the floor grating; it was sturdy enough to hold weight, but you could see the lethal drop through the rusted holes. He walked to the exact center of the bridge and sat down. He unslung the Star-Metal Spear and laid it across his lap, running a hand over the ash wood shaft. It was cool to the touch. The silver metal of the tip gleamed dully in the industrial twilight.
