"Right." He had an old army knife in his pocket, clenched with rust but still usable. Still used. Zach's eyes studied her warily. He'd thought her an ornamental creature from a distance once - like a swan, perhaps. But swans were fighting creatures as well and he wondered, looking at Astoria, that he had ever forgotten that, that behind grace ever rested not only beauty, but subtle power.
"You want I should go in first?" He kicked the manhole cover over, listening as it clanged against the ground, rolling slowly until it hit the curb, neither of them speaking. It was quiet in the street - nothing but the sound of rushing water in the distance- a fire hydrant exploded, a faucet left running - the sound of unknown possibility.