Iron and Blood

The factory doors screamed as Julia wrenched them open, cold air rushing in like a slap against her skin. Rain battered her coat, dripping in steady rivulets down her back, but inside the Burleigh Iron Works, the heat was stifling—thick, oily, alive. Steam hissed from pipes above, rising like smoke from the beast’s belly. The air tasted of metal and sweat, each breath heavy, like swallowing rust.

Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat in sync with the grinding gears of the machines. Somewhere in this iron labyrinth, Thomas was waiting—if he was even still alive.