“Fine.” Lynnia sighed and stumped to the door, muttering. “Tell Yora to watch out for herself. Obviously my advice is lost on you.”

*

Kit looked in her element, dressed in battered scavengers’ leathers, her short, spiky blue hair ragged, a heavy pack slung nonchalantly over one shoulder. She had her blaster pistol holstered on one hip and a curved short sword on the other, both with worn grips that hinted of heavy use.

Gyre himself felt somewhat less comfortable. His black working outfit wasn’t meant for tunnel crawling, and his overstuffed pack slowed him more than he liked. There was no way around that, though. As they moved away from the Pit, the temperature would fall quickly, and the fur overcoat he’d crammed in would be a necessity.

“About time we got moving,” Kit said. “I don’t usually take this long between jobs. Makes me antsy.”

“Oh?” Gyre said.

He tugged the edges of his hood, making sure the shadows concealed the dull gleam of his mask. They were standing at an intersection in the tunnels, not far from the shelter where he’d taken Kit to meet the others. Habit made Gyre pause and look around carefully, searching for tails.

“You know the scavenger’s routine.” Kit stretched, arching her back. “Get paid, get drunk, get fucked, go back out.”

“With the money you’re spending on this project, I’d have thought you’d have enough to entertain yourself for a while.”

“It’s my client’s money, not mine.” She grinned. “Besides, drinking and screwing don’t scratch the itch for long, you know?”

“Not really.”

Gyre finished his reconnaissance, having seen no indications that Auxie spies were onto them. He beckoned to Kit, who sauntered along in his wake. She was stronger than her skinny frame would indicate, and the heavy pack didn’t seem to burden her much.

“Is that why you do this, then?” Gyre said as they walked. “Excitement?”

Carts and riders passed in a steady stream in both directions, along with a small crowd of pedestrians, mostly manufactory hands.

“At first, I suppose. I needed the money, but there’s other ways to make money.” Kit shrugged. “Later I found other reasons.”

“Such as?”

“Sorry.” Her smile was predatory. “A girl’s entitled to some secrets.”

“Fair enough.” Gyre pointed at a side street. “Through here.”

Close to the surface, the tunnels felt like a normal city under a stone roof. Now, though, as they pressed into increasingly narrow back alleys, the original form of the place became obvious. Long stretches of bare stone, smooth, ghoul-carved surface riven by cracks, were broken by clusters of shacks huddling at intersections. The regular lanterns and glowstones disappeared and a cool wind blew steadily, not yet unpleasantly chill but definitely with a suggestion of more to come.