The jungle broke where the bridge should have been.
Mist poured through the gap like a slow river, dragging white veils across a ravine so deep it turned green to black. What remained of the span hung in two ragged jaws - ropes chewed, lattice beams split along the grain as if something had pinched them from the inside and twisted. No saw marks, no scorch, no bolts sheared clean; the stone abutments along either lip had warped inward, pressure-bent like clay before it sets.
The Wardens in the lead car braked hard. The second car eased in behind, like a big animal lowering its head to sniff a sudden edge. Lanterns swayed on the nearest trunks, throwing soft, patient light over ruin that didn't care about patience.
Solomon leaned to the broader Warden without looking away from the torn mouth of the ravine. His voice carried no farther than it needed. "You think this is Anathema doing?"
