The slope stretched upward. Further. Higher.
Brandon held Gideon's hand again, chattering on about training. His voice carried easily in the tight space—bright, hopeful. Gideon answered in half-hearted hums and clipped responses.
"How're we gonna get to the higher levels?"
"The alleys."
"Why those? I don't even think there's anything to go up. No ladders, escalators, or even those fancy lifts."
"Exactly." Gideon didn't look at him. "We climb. It's the easiest way. We can cut through abandoned slum corners. The goons'll be watching the main entrances."
Brandon nodded. "Yes, grumpy."
The combs thinned as they neared an exit.
The air changed first.
It smelled… sterile. Too clean. Like something had scrubbed the life out of it.
Machinery rang out overhead—low, constant. The hum of fluorescent lights lined the streets beyond, mixing with the distant buzz of a mag train roaring somewhere above.
Brandon glanced around, eyes wide. "Hey, Gid—I think I see the way to the alley."
The exit was cramped. Barely two feet across.
Gideon groaned, shrugging off his bag and tossing it through first. The sheet of sachisteel inside clattered loudly against itself.
He winced.
Then forced himself through.
Brandon followed, slipping out into the alley with a breathless laugh. "Man, it's really close, isn't it? The levels aren't even that far. We usually take the long ramp."
"That route's crawling with goons. We take the back door." Gideon slung his bag over one shoulder and stepped toward the wall.
Brandon pivoted, hands on his hips as he looked up. "So… how're we getting up?"
"Find footholds. Climb."
Gideon paused. Glanced back.
"…Or I go first."
Brandon huffed. "You go. I couldn't climb that even if I had claws the size of bananas."
Gideon studied the wall—then the ground.
"What are you doing?" Brandon squinted. "Trying to learn gravity magic right now?"
"Why would I need gravity magic?" Gideon muttered. "I'm already bound to earth."
His eyes scanned the alley. Then—
"There."
He crouched, grabbing a slab of scrapsteel. With a sharp twist, it split—clean, unnatural. Four solid pieces.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk—shing.
One after another, he hurled them into the brick wall. They embedded deep, jutting out like crude steps.
"Only earth users…" Brandon shook his head.
"Silence. Climb."
Gideon stepped onto the first plate, then the next, repeating the motion with mechanical precision as he ascended.
"Control your flames near your feet," he called down.
Brandon looked up.
Then down.
Then up again.
"…I don't know how."
Gideon grumbled, hauling himself to the top. "You never do. Just move—quick. Before you melt the scrap."
Man… he's awfully mean today.
Brandon tightened his grip on his bag and jumped.
One plate to the next.
The metal warped slightly beneath his feet, bending from the heat. He scrambled, uneven but determined.
Gideon reached down, grabbing his arm and pulling him up the last stretch.
Once Brandon was over, Gideon flicked his hand. The scrapsteel tore free from the wall below, clattering back down into the alley.
"C'mon. We've got little daylight."
Brandon nodded quickly, grabbing both their bags.
Gideon growled low and snatched his own back, eyes narrowing.
He didn't say anything.
Just turned—
And started toward Beck's.
Brandon stood there.
And stood.
Feet rooted to the steel beneath him.
His eyes followed Gideon's back, unblinking.
The glow of photonic billboards flickered faintly across his face—colors shifting, advertisements scrolling—none of it registering.
They dimmed as Gideon moved farther ahead.
Smaller.
Colder.
Brandon exhaled.
Crouched. Picked up his bag.
And followed.
Ten feet behind.