Ariadne reached the corner and descended the service ladder. Clo followed, making sure not to look down. The ladder was older and needed painting. Her hands were soon stained with rust. She gripped each rung as tightly as she could, moving slowly, surely.

Ariadne finished one level and started on the next. Clo steadied her breathing. Almost halfway there. Nearly done. With the first step of a series of dangerous tasks. She still couldn’t believe they were actually trying to take down the Tholosians from the inside. It seemed a fool’s errand. They were tiny gnats trying to take on a Procolian snow beast.

“I’m down,” Ariadne called up softly.

Before Clo could answer, the shaft filled with an echoing metal shriek.

The elevator.

“Fuck!”

Clo clambered down the ladder faster. The one on the second level was in even-worse condition. The paint flecked off, making her hands slippery. She held on tighter and put her foot down on the next rung.

It slipped.

Clo’s breath left her lungs in a rush. Her other foot lost purchase and she hung on by her hands. Ariadne was too far away to be of help. Clo kicked out. The clanking grew louder.

She managed to step onto the rungs again, and crawled down the ladder like a spithra bug. She had no time to check her grips. She could only move as fast as possible and hope her borrowed shoes didn’t betray her again.

Clo reached the platform, and Ariadne grabbed her. They both pressed themselves flat against the wall as the elevator whooshed past. The wind buffeted them, and they closed their eyes tight. Within half a second, it was far above them.

“Fluming bogging fuck,” Clo said, for good measure.

“Are you all right?” Ariadne asked.

“Just thankful I’m not greeting the gods face-to-face right now. Salutem, God of Survival, my heart.” She took deep, ragged breaths and wiped her grimy hands on her dirtied top.

“Hopefully, that’s as exciting as things get tonight,” Ariadne said, pulling a small non-organic shifter cuff from her pocket. “Here.”

“How’d you sneak that past the guards?” Clo asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she answered with a grin.

Ariadne turned it on and gave them each a quick once-over. The dirt disappeared from their clothes, their faces, their hair. Their suits’ creases smoothed, changing from private security to Tholosian guard uniforms. Underneath the illusion, Clo could still feel the dirt clogging her pores. She twisted around. All perfect, right down to the ID tags. It was risky, but it was easier to hide an energy signature than the amount of muck they were covered in.

“We don’t have Mors,” Ariadne said critically. “So don’t brush against anyone.” She’d created the illusion of a gun holster, but as it was flat against the fabric, it wouldn’t hold up under the slightest hint of scrutiny. “Best I can do. Come on.”