The Tailor Who Stitched the Truth for the King of the Underworld
I pulled them out and wedged the thick metal blades between the spokes of the red wheel.
Using the shears as a lever, I threw my entire weight against the handles.
Down below, the men were moving closer to Aries.
“Set the case on the ground,” Killian ordered.
My muscles burned as I strained against the shears.
The metal groaned, a sharp screech of protest echoing in the small room.
Then, with a loud pop, the rust broke.
The wheel spun half an inch.
A hiss of scalding hot air shot out of the valve, burning the skin on my wrist.
I ignored the pain, wrapping my hands around the wheel and spinning it fully open.
A deafening roar shook the entire room.
The boiler rattled against the concrete floor.
Outside the window, the overhead steam manifold exploded with a massive rush of white.
A thick, boiling cloud of steam blasted into the warehouse bay.
The entire ground floor vanished from sight in an instant.
I heard shouts of confusion and panic from below.
“What is that?” someone yelled.
“I can’t see my hands!” another cried.