“Not your fault,” said Catskill. She pulled down her balaclava and goggles. “Don’t worry about it. Move.” She poked her head out into the street. Left, right: nothing. Up: nothing. She squinted at the far cliff, but couldn’t make anything out through the light snowfall. Maybe the sniper had changed position by now. Maybe the blizzard would spontaneously vanish. “You done?”