They reached the bombed part of the bridge as the sun started to rise.
The broken span rose from the shore in uneven chunks of concrete and steel. Some sections had collapsed into the water. Others still held, damaged but wide enough for them to climb if they stayed low and watched their footing.
Nobody spoke while they climbed.
Marybeth's legs shook every time she pulled herself up another broken slab. Her hands hurt from gripping rough concrete, and her wet clothes clung to her skin. Behind her, Lance climbed slower than the rest, but he kept moving. Aljun stayed close to him without saying anything about it.
When they reached a flatter section, Arnulf let them stop.
Everyone sat where they could. The bridge gave them a clear view of the water, the shore, and the fort in the distance. For a moment, the place looked too calm for what they were about to do.
Lance sat beside Marybeth and looked back toward the streets they had left behind.
