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... o up the catwalk."
We climbed. The catwalk’s grating chewed noise into a thousand small clicks—good for us, bad for anyone trying to sneak. The east wind came mean for a minute, brought a taste of salt and something that wasn’t sea. Mana. Rot. The Gate humming in the bones of the city.
A new sound—metal dragged over metal, then a pop like a lung turning inside out.
Hana hissed, "Down!"
We dropped. A bolt of condensed slag punched where my head had been and sizzled ...
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