The stairs under Cutter Lane were narrower than Caleb's shoulders.
That saved him.
The silver wanted width. It wanted height. It wanted the yard above, the open sky, the shape waiting under his skin that knew exactly how to stand if he stopped insisting on being small.
The stair gave him concrete on both sides and rusted metal under his hands. It forced his body to remember its own edges.
He went down sideways, mask tight over his face, one hand on the rail and one hand clenched hard enough that silver pushed between his knuckles in thin bright seams.
Above him, the fight kept moving. Hiro was alive. Rina was with him. Tali's voice came through the channel in clipped pieces, all position and pressure. Kikaru was swearing. Iharu laughed once, which meant he was hurt and pretending otherwise.
The Child did not follow.
That was worse than pursuit.
It wanted him below.
At the bottom of the stairs, the air changed.
