The heavy brass control lever slammed into the lowest descent notch with a brutal, mechanical crunch.
CLACK-CHUNK.
Deep in the darkness above, the massive iron counterweights groaned on their rusted tracks. Beneath their work boots, the diamond-plate steel floor of Freight Elevator #00 dropped out from under them like an express trapdoor.
Clara gasped, her hands locking onto the cold, rusted iron mesh of the cage wall. Her acoustic receiver rattled in her shoulder bag, the headphones vibrating against her collarbone with a high, frantic whine.
Beside her, Thomas Vance didn’t stagger. The tall, faceless inspector shifted his boots two inches wider, planting his center of gravity like an ancient oak tree rooted in granite. His left arm stayed wrapped around Clara’s shoulders, pinning her securely against the thick wool of his heavy canvas trench coat as the cage plummeted into the black shaft beneath Old Ferry Road.
Up above, through the open iron roof grating of the elevator, the street-level landing shrank in an instant into a small, square frame of dirty rain and flickering neon light.
Julian could see Sammy Chen leaning out over the edge of the pit, his blue clerk apron whipping violently in the upward draft, his hands cupped around his mouth:
