Two seconds remained on the desk’s ceramic clock.
00:02
Beneath Chair #304, the iron release pawls groaned against their grease housings. The oak floorboards tilted three degrees downward, opening a half-inch black void beneath Lin Mei’s feet.
A draft of freezing, stagnant air rushed up from the basement shafts, carrying the stench of wet paper pulp and caustic soda.
“Julian!” Elena’s whisper was a razor of cold tension.
Her gloved fingers dug into Lin Mei’s wool coat, bracing the girl’s entire weight against the backrest to keep her from sliding into the pit. “The floor is dropping!”
“Don’t move,” Julian whispered back.
His hand was rock-steady. He didn’t look at the opening chasm. He didn’t look at the bronze pendulum blade suspended forty feet above their skulls.
