The subterranean air tasted of dry nitrogen, sulfur, and cold ocean salt.
Julian ducked his head beneath the low arched granite ceiling of the utility tunnel.
The narrow passage was barely six feet high, carved directly into the basalt breakwater.
Far above them, the heavy Atlantic winter breakers crashed against the seawall.
Every massive wave sent a low, resonant shudder through the stone floor beneath their boots.
Damp seawater seeped down the mortar joints, sizzling against caged twenty-five-watt industrial bulbs.
“Watch your head, Lin Mei,” Julian warned, holding his brass inspection lantern forward.
“The ceiling drops three inches at every cast-iron expansion joint.”
