She pulled a ladder to the sculpture and climbed to the top. The welder warmed in her hand as the crackle of Dyson engines came from outside, followed by red and blue lights strobing through the open window. Gravel crunched, then low voices blipped police slang. Hoppers, had to be, dropping in from the emergency routes. Despite everything, her body responded—Pavlovian triggers embedded too deep. She straightened her shoulders beneath a grimy white t-shirt, hand searching for the badge she no longer wore.