The yellow phosphor needle glowed like a venomous horn under the purple beam.
Julian didn’t move his hand away from the glass. He kept the ultraviolet pen steady, illuminating the inner brass face where the true pressure sat pinned at forty-five pounds per square inch.
“Step back, Elena,” Julian said softly.
“I can see it,” Elena whispered, her teeth clenched tight. “Forty-five pounds of live jacket pressure. If you had turned that radial wheel, the latch dog would have sheared off.”
“It would have released the outer jacket straight into the doorway,” Julian said. “Superheated tallow-steam. It would have cooked anyone standing on this walkway in three seconds.”
“And Devon inside?” Elena asked.
“The inward blowback would have ruptured his lungs,” Julian said.
He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his brass calipers. He tapped the exterior glass lens with the brass tip.
