The foundry’s metal skeleton groaned as if waking from a long, vengeful sleep.

Red emergency lights pulsed along the ceiling, slow and deliberate flashes that washed over the walls like heartbeats made of blood. The air vibrated with a deep mechanical hum, one that crawled under the skin and settled into the spine.

Carson recognized it instantly.

Justina felt it.

His father designed it.

A containment system.

An old prototype.

A trap.

The vibration intensified until dust sifted from the ...