The tide had climbed two streets by morning, carrying ribbons of oil and a hundered small refelctions of the city lights.
Mara kept the iron key in her palm until the teeth left a mark. She had promised herself she would not open the river door unless the bells began to ring.
On the far platform, a receipt of gulls scattered above the watchtower, and the old lamps flickered like they were losing patience.
Jalen waited beside the lock, coat soaked through, one hand braced against the bronze wheel. "If we wait any longer," he said, "the lower district goes under."
2,184 / 2,500 words