Mara kept the key hidden in her palm, still unsure whether opening the river door would save the city or betray it.
The corridor was very dark and made everyone feel afraid.The corridor swallowed the lamp glow before it reached their hands.
The tide had climbed two streets by morning, carrying oil-bright ribbons and the sour smell of the lower docks.
The iron door waited below them, black with river silt, its lock turning one slow notch every time the bells rang.
If she opened the door before dawn, one version of the city would survive and the other would become rumor.
The map in her pocket felt heavier than the knife.
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