The iron spiral staircase vibrated so hard that Julian’s boots slid half an inch on every tread.
The descent was like climbing down the inside of an industrial boiler. Forty feet below the shattered floor of the Inverted Courthouse, the cool air of the upper floors vanished entirely, replaced by a suffocating, chemical downdraft.
It reeked of boiling bisphenol-A resin, vaporized nitric acid, hot mineral grease, and wet copper pennies. The air felt thick enough to chew, slick with fine particles of atomized machine oil and floating flecks of airborne carbon black that stuck to the sweat on Julian’s face.
Elena Rostova grabbed Julian’s elbow with a firm, urgent grip. Her medical apron was flapping violently in the draft, her stethoscope clattering against her collarbone.
“Put your filters on right now!” Elena shouted, her voice competing against the rising mechanical thunder.
She didn’t wait for anyone to ask questions. She pulled six sterile charcoal-gauze masks from her trauma pouch and began handing them out.
Her fingers moved with combat-medic speed, tying the white cloth strips behind Lin Mei’s ears, then Clara’s, then Dr. Corvo’s.
“Breathe shallowly through the nose,” Elena instructed, tying Julian’s mask securely over his mouth. “The particulate count down here is lethal.”
