the smuggler’s bible

Madelon

Madelon gets her footing on the slimy cobblestones and gives her team the all clear. Headlamps flick on. Somebody cracks a glow stick to leave by the rope.

The sewers are in bad shape. The walkways have crumbled in several places. They keep to the side of the channel, where the sludge doesn’t run so deep. As they head into an older section of tunnels (north, toward Monument Street by Madelon’s reckoning) the walls begins to emit a faint green light.

“I thought we were after a gator,” someone whispers.

“Technically,” Madelon says, “the city just knows it has teeth.”