Julian’s boots touched the steel grating of the mezzanine stairs.
The rhythmic pounding of the machinery shook the handrail beneath his fingers:
Clack-hiss-thump! Clack-hiss-thump!
The air inside Bay 07 was thick, hot, and suffocating. It tasted of vinegar, burnt plastic, and heavy industrial formaldehyde.
“Keep your head low,” Julian whispered over his shoulder. “Don’t let your silhouette hit the glass.”
Elena followed two steps behind him, her titanium crowbar held tight against her thigh. Lin Mei brought up the rear, her slide-rule tucked into her vest pocket and her ultraviolet flashlight gripped in her hand.
“Look at the venting ducts above the presses,” Elena whispered. Her nurse’s instincts were on high alert. “They aren’t venting to the outside. They’re circulating formalin mist through the ceiling blowers to sterilize the paper fibers.”
“Formalin?” Lin Mei asked quietly. “Like embalming fluid?”
