"Let’s take some air before we go below." Conroy crossed to the far wall, Squire following. A heavy steel exit door formed a blank panel in the glass wall. He placed his hand against its lock; a red light flicked green and a deep thunk broke the silence. It swung open. After the sweltering humidity of the greenhouse, the outside air was an icy blanket that made his body bristle with goosebumps. His left leg ached where it met the composite blade; rapid temperature changes were a curse to the damaged. He stepped through and gripped a handrail in the dark. The north-facing doorway led to a series of landings and ladders that traced the periphery of the building. Metal fastenings jangled as the Bridge moved. Conroy and Squire were sheltered from the wind, but it produced a frustrated moan as it pushed past the Bridge’s taut cables. Manhattan beckoned in the distance, a forest of glittering trees.