The heat hit them three steps down the service spiral.
It wasn’t ordinary boiler heat. It was a dense, suffocating wall of wet air that smelled of boiled iron, sulfur, and ancient coal dust. Droplets of condensation fell from the curved overhead pipes like hot rain, spattering against Julian’s shoulders and leaving greasy brown circles on his coat.
“Watch your boots on the treads,” Julian said, his hand clamped on the rusted pipe rail. “The rust is peeling off in wet flakes.”
“I’ve got traction,” Elena said behind him. She adjusted the strap of her trauma kit with a sharp tug.
Her gray eyes swept the dark brick walls, tracking the thick bundles of wrapped asbestos lines. “Ambient temperature down here is at least a hundred and fifteen degrees.
Humidity is near saturation.”
“It’s higher near the fireboxes,” Lin Mei whispered. Her fingers gripped her brass-tipped inspection pole so hard her knuckles were yellow in the dim light.
“Marcus has been in this room for twenty-six nights. If the jacket pressure spikes past four atmospheres, the glass won’t hold.”
