The copper pipes running from the boilers were thick, wrapped in peeling asbestos insulation.

I placed a hand near one of the pipes.

It was hot.

The boilers were still active, connected to the building’s central steam line.

A low, deep hum vibrated through the metal casing.

On the side of the main boiler, a large brass pressure gauge showed the needle pointing near the red zone.

Next to it was a manual release wheel, rusted but solid.

I looked at the thick rubber hoses dangling from the steam outlets.

If I opened that valve, the entire room would fill with scalding, blinding steam in seconds.

I memorized the position of the wheel and the layout of the pipes.

I kept moving, searching for a way out.

I reached the far wall, where a row of high windows looked out onto the shipyard.

I climbed onto a stack of wooden pallets to look through the dirty glass.

Outside, the rain was coming down in sheets, blurring the lights of the Manhattan skyline across the dark river.

Below me, a single black sedan was parked near the dock edge.