The cyclone of Unbalanced Ledger Moths roared out of the Actuary’s unhinged throat at three thousand revolutions per minute.
Their triangular wings--folded from brittle 1924 rag-bond tax sheets nested inside the Actuary’s probate gullet long after Shelf 4B’s stockroom colony had burned to ash--howled through the chill air like a circular saw biting into hardwood.
Even with the stockroom ledger-shelf incinerated during Wave One, the physical hazard of Stockroom Rule S3 left zero margin for error: If paper moths emerge from the 1924 tax ledgers, do not swat them with bare skin; their wings cut at eighty grams of paper tension.
Drawn toward the moisture of living human corneas and the radiant heat of the de-bonding iron, the lead wedge of paper blades lunged within two inches of Julian Vance’s unprotected eyes.
“Julian, shield your face!” Elena Rostova cried out from Station 3, one hand braced on the grounded defibrillator paddles.
“Don’t let the roller leave the jaw!” Lin Mei warned from Register 2, her fingers locked on the Underwood keys. “Thermal de-bonding requires continuous four-hundred-degree contact! If the brass wedge leaves the seam for more than one second, the bisphenol-A resin will crystallize into a permanent glaze!”
Julian’s survival instincts screamed at him to jerk his head back and throw his forearms over his eyes.
