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destination. The wall. Specifically, the Wall, where a small side-entrance stood guarded by a squat toll-booth-sized shelter. Two night watchmen manned it, and one stepped out to halt them.
    “Sorry, folks. Not enough time left for you to get out tonight,” said the watchman. He was tall. Tall, but young; lanky.
    “There’s enough for us to get out,” Three answered. “We don’t need to get back in.”
    The tall guard looked them up and down, suspiciously.
    “Naw,” he replied, without warmth. “Like I said. Not enough time.”
    “Trust me,” said Three. “There is.”
    “You in some kind of trouble here, miss?” asked the other guard, now emerging from the shelter. Three checked him. Older, rounder, soft, but gritty.
    “No, sir,” Cass answered, too quickly. “We’re fine.”
    The older watchman’s eyes roved back and forth over Cass and Wren. Three sized up both guards. Tall one was eager: he’d be the first to try something. But it was the older one he had to watch.
    The older one grunted, exchanged a look with the taller. Not a look. The look.
    “OK, well,” said the older guard, turning back towards his shelter. “Why don’t you folks just–”
    Before he could finish, Three smashed his forearm across the back of the older guard’s neck, slamming the watchman’s face hard into the wall of the shelter. In the impact, something flew from the guard’s hand: stunrod.
    In the same instant, Three had his pistol jammed under the jaw of the taller guard, forcing the young watchman’s head up and backwards.
    “Open it, and then close it behind us,” Three snarled, teeth gritting in the older guard’s ear. “Or I’ll do it, and leave it open. All. Night.”
    The older watchman remained silent through the blood pouring from his nose. Three could feel the tension in the man, like a viper coiled. Half a slip, and the tables would turn. But the taller one made whimpering, agreeable noises. When Three lowered the gun off him, he quickly bustled to the door and opened it. The door led into a darkened chamber: a small airlock within the wall. Three pushed off the old watchman, floating his weapon fluidly between the two.
    “Both doors,” Three growled.
    The young watchman shook his head vigorously.
    “It don’t work like that. You gotta get in, and shut this door. Then the other one can open, from the inside.”
    Three started towards the guard, who stumbled backwards into the airlock, but there was no defiance there, only fear. Three knew he was telling the truth.
    “Fine. Come on.”
    Cass and Wren pushed into the chamber, and the watchman started to sidle out. Three flashed his gun, and teeth.
    “No. You stay.”
    The tall watchman looked to the old, color draining from his face. The older one paced closer; slow, determined, with barely restrained menace.
    “Look. Whatever business you have leavin’ here at this time o’ day is your own,” said the older guard. “You leave him out of it.”
    Three stared the man down, looked deep, and found steel. The old man had some bond with the taller guard. He wasn’t going to budge. Three ground his teeth. They were losing time.
    A tense heartbeat, then another.
    Finally, Three slid his gun back into its holster, gently, and motioned the young watchman out. Young slid behind old, wounded, frightened, sheltering behind the other’s strength. For a moment, Three wondered if they might be father and son.
    “When this one shuts, it’ll take a minute,” said the old watchman, shutting the door before anyone could reply, and sealing the trio in complete darkness. Somewhere in the wall, gears ground, and a deep metallic thunk sounded; a heavy lock sliding into place.
    Seconds became minutes. Still they sat. Trapped. Betrayed. Three reached for his pistol, not knowing what else to do.
    Then, a hiss. A crack of ebbing light around the outer door. Three felt around, found a handle, pushed it down and outward, and the door swung open.
    The dead city