I went under.
The bridge's shadow wasn't shade; it was a place where heat talked less. I hung from a chain whose links weighed more than my bad ideas, hand-over-handed to a support rib, then to a bolt, then through a seam that let me slip to the far side of the river without boiling.
The rim was close. So was the storm—ash ribboning in pretty curtains that would sand a face off if you stayed there to admire them.
I ran. Not fast. I didn't have fast anymore. I had quiet and stubborn and the ugly little laugh I make when the math says I shouldn't make it.
[Lightning Step — Step 1/3 Active]
[Cooldown to next Step: 2 s]
[Warning: Musculoskeletal stress accumulating]
One blink to clear a patrol that came early because of course they did. I saved the rest. Be nothing.
Our overhang showed. My legs tried to sprint the last ten meters and faceplant to celebrate. I made them walk. Miracles didn't like being pointed at.
