One lunge to grab a second-story windowsill and swing for momentum. She flipped onto the eave, which loosened and cracked under her weight as she bounded for more solid ground. Instead she bounced into an Escher array of towers and architectural oddities, jutting platforms and the like. Dickensian smokestacks expunged bilious puffs into the darkening air. Sloan wheeled, searched for an exit. Only up.

(Chapter 40)