The most dangerous steam in the world is the steam you can’t see.
At seven hundred degrees Fahrenheit and three thousand pounds of pressure of pressure, water vapor doesn’t condense into billowing white clouds. It exists as an invisible, see-through blade of pure striking force, rushing through the tiny gaps of a failed pipe rim at faster-than-sound speed.
Down in the wellhead cellar, the air looked fully clear.
Yet the sound was terrifying. A high-pitched, piercing whistle that sawed through the ears like a diamond blade against glass.
Giles stood at the top of the cellar ladder, his arm outstretched to bar Corbin Cross and Toby Karr from dropping.
“Don’t set foot on that ladder,” Giles commanded, his voice sharp and uncompromising.
“Lord Croft, there’s only a bit of dust blowing down there,” Corbin said. He leaned over the timber rail with a heavy crescent wrench in hand.
“Let me drop down and tighten the pipe rim nuts half a turn. I can have it cinched in two minutes.”
