I got Ingrid up onto the rail and held her there until both hands closed on the rope.
The web bit into her palms the way it had bitten into Code's. Behind us the hallway kept up that motion — hundreds of people working at their ears in time with each other, the soft wet rhythm of nails on skin, faces turned inward as if something had got inside all of them at once and was looking for a way back out.
"I'm going fast," she said. "If they come up, don't wait for me. Get on the rope."
"Alright."
"I mean it, Bram."
"Go."
She started down, and I was counting before her head cleared the rail. One. Two. The dark took her shoulders, then the rest of her. Whatever Code had done it in she was going to triple it. There was no version where she didn't.
The line jerked in short pulls against the rail.
I looked back into the hallway.
Every hand came off every ear at the same moment.
