Two hours before the emergency assembly, Giles had been standing in the sub-basement vaults beneath the building guildhall, inspecting the latest tracking data from Sector Four.
Beside him, Foreman Corbin Cross was scrubbing sulfur grime from his forearms. Meanwhile, Toby Karr pinned three fresh earth-measuring cross-sections to the corkboard.
The air smelled of wet stone and the sharp, vinegar sting of fiery fumes drifting up through the channel shafts.
“The bedrock shifted weight isn’t random settling, Giles,” Corbin had said, his voice husky from dust.
“Every twenty minutes, the entire Iron Range lifts four inches, holds for twelve seconds, and drops back down.
It’s like standing on the ribs of a sleeping giant beast.”
Toby Karr held up a brass sample vial filled with yellow-tinted liquid pulled from the deep sump pump in Sector Four.
“Sister Teresa ran the litmus test on this twenty minutes ago,” Toby reported. He pointed his pencil at the reading. “The strip didn’t just turn red, Giles.
