Eli could remember the road being open more clearly than he could remember the day he had used it.
In the memory, a low wall divided the service lane from the water. Trucks waited under yellow lamps. He had walked between them with someone whose face he could not place, turning toward a staircase that led above the harbor. The route had felt safe because it remained available when other streets closed.
On the current plan he had marked it in pencil.
Sera’s local scout contact put a photograph beside the mark.
A barrier crossed the lane. Beyond it stood a temporary enclosure and a posted restriction. The stairs were visible through the fence, narrow and apparently intact. Their physical existence did not make them accessible.
“This is closed,” the scout said.
“For the whole day?”
“Until the authority changes the restriction. There isn’t an arrangement for residents to pass through.”
