Dawn on Day eighty-five broke over the high Spine with the clean, crystal-clear bright glare that only comes after a night of sub-zero wind. The Needlehouse courtyard was silent, frosted in silver rime, the massive pale limestone walls of the map hall throwing a sharp, three-sided shadow across the ravine below.
Kezra Venn stood beside the northeastern corner anchor, four paces outside the sixty-four-pace boundary line. Her boots were frosted at the laces, her wool coat was buttoned tight against the cutting draught. Her hands were steady.
Beside her, Fellis held the final map point portfolio, its rag pages filled with thirty-six pages of checked transit sights. He measured tongs thicknesses, and sound depth records. Paxa stood at her right elbow, her fingers resting lightly on Kezra’s shoulder in silent witness. Meanwhile, Yseld stood six paces back, her short spear grounded in the frozen moss. She watched the trail approach with the unblinking vigilance of a mountain hawk.
“All twenty-five grid points checked,” Fellis said softly, his breath misting in the dawn light. “outer edge clearance: one pace west, one pace east outside the stone support prop toe. Upper high window row overhang: negative. Depth datum: minus twenty-nine paces to gallery flags, minus thirty-two paces to native pale limestone footing. Three Reach anchors cut and checked.”
