The storms never seemed to stop.
They pressed harder, louder, until the air in the tunnels throbbed with sound.
The mansion above bore the brunt of it—glass shattered, timbers groaned, whole rooms must have been peeling apart under the pressure.
Down here the vibrations rolled like a heartbeat in stone, rattling lantern hooks and making the broth slosh in its pot.
The roar was constant, like standing too close to a freight train that never ended. It shifted in pitch, low to high, splitting and doubling back on itself until it was impossible to tell where one tornado ended and another began.
Sera felt the change in air before she heard it—the tunnels grew heavier, pressing into her chest, tugging at her ears until the pressure made them ache.
Around her, the KAS men shifted uneasily, popping jaws, swallowing against the pressure that refused to balance.
