It's good to be at work again. The hound mounts a bit of stone wall, now collapsed. It had been quarried not far away— quarried being a generous term, as it was mainly comprised of rocks not bigger than a fist all mortared together with something the color of local dirt. Still, it was heavy enough, and thick, and the dog paused atop the rubble, nose seeking first this way and then that. Then it barked once, and leapt down, with Shepard jogging after it.

The next bark was longer, a strange hybrid bay, halfway to a howl, that carried over the kicked-up dust and all the other sounds, as clearly as a gunshot. Right here! it seemed to say.

Shepard bent down next to the crack between where someone's back door had probably been and saw— yeah. There was air down there.

"Good boy," She said, "I'm gonna put a light in. Garrus?"

Nightvision or otherwise, no one ever accused Turians of having less than stellar eyesight. Shepard focused, and for a brief moment it seemed like nothing would happen, and then light bloomed at her fingertips, LED-bright, shining down into the hole. She'd be relieved if it didn't feel so fucking weird; it had too much practical use not to use, but this magic bullshit was never going to be her preference.

But they did need it. There was no point in lifting off the rubble if doing so was only going to collapse something deeper down.