The plant had been asleep for a decade and still dreamed in pipes. Long tanks hunched under the roof like ribcages, and the catwalks wore rust the color of dried cherries. When the door rolled up, the night came in first, then the cold, then the room's memory of work. It smelled like bleach and old rain and a promise someone forgot to keep.
Kael went up the nearest stair without looking like he was hurrying. His boots learned the rhythm of the grate in two steps and kept it. Amara slid along the rail with a mirror tucked in her palm like a quiet opinion. Callum checked the lower level and tested his weight on the ladder that pretended it would hold. Olli set the case down on the catwalk and opened it with the care of a man unwrapping a bomb he hoped was a radio.
