They rolled toward the north gate, tires picking up dust, the engine's low growl turning heads. The guard shift bristled for a heartbeat, then relaxed as the two faces in the cab resolved to known quantities. The senior sentry stepped forward—a woman with a scar like a misplaced smile along her jaw—and rested a hand on the gate jamb.
"Going far?" she called over the rumble.
"Cindralock," Lyra said. "Guild business."
"Always is," the woman said, amused. Her gaze moved to the JLTV with the skeptical fondness the city was learning to have for Inigo's imported monsters. "Bring it back with the same number of holes."
"Increased holes will result in an after‑action report," Inigo promised solemnly, and she laughed and waved them through.
