The north yard of Cindralock was a skeleton of scaffolds and shored timbers, ropes creaking, the air shot through with chalk dust and a tang like vinegar left too long in sun. Commander Ves walked like the rock belonged to her, cutting across the courtyard toward the black-edged door without looking back to see if they followed. Inigo fell in step, Lyra ghosting his shoulder, eyes doing their habitual sweep—archways, rooflines, the rhythm of people's hands. The JLTV ticked over behind them at idle, a square-jawed dog waiting for the command to heel.
"Alchemy wing took the worst of it," Ves called over her shoulder as they ducked under a strut where a mason wedged a length of oak against a cracked lintel. "North wall sloughed. We've braced load points, but I'd prefer your visit brief."
"How brief?" Inigo asked.
"If the cliff decides to shrug again," Ves said, "I'd rather it didn't happen with strangers in the basement."
