"You threaten them, and you’ll have a mutiny before the next rail-splice," Mavrik warned, his voice a taut wire about to snap. "They aren't just lazy, Varkelion. They’re hearing the same thing the walls are breathing. The stokers are convinced the train is dying, and if it’s dying, they want to be the ones to choose how it happens."Varkelion grabbed Mavrik by his greasy collar, hauling him inches away from his face. The smell of scorched ozone and rotting iron filled the air. "I am the Conductor. This train lives as long as I say it lives. Get to the lower decks. Put a gun to their heads if you have to, but keep the firebox burning. I’ll handle the noise in the walls."Mavrik didn’t pull away; he looked through Varkelion, his eyes glazed with a terrifying, detached clarity. "You can’t shoot a song, Varkelion. And that’s all they’re hearing. The Fifth Carriage… it’s singing the history of every person who’s ever been shoveled into this furnace. It’s reminding them that they’re just fu

"They’ve what, Mavrik? Spit it out before I throw you down the intake shaft myself.""They’ve dropped their shovels, Varkelion. They’ve formed a union. They’ve welded the boiler hatch shut."Varkelion didn’t waste breath on a curse. He lunged past Mavrik, his heavy leather coat snapping against the narrow metal frame of the bulkhead door. The smell of cold ash and wet rust hit him instantly, overriding the usual comforting stench of sulfur and coal smoke."Welded?" Varkelion’s hand flew to the heavy iron-plated revolver at his hip. "With what thermal-rig? They don't have the clearance.""They don't need clearance when they have three hundred pounds of pressure-torch and nothing left to lose," Mavrik panted, scrambling to keep pace down the spiraling iron stairs. "Griss is leading them. He’s got the whole shift. Thirty-two men, all armed with slag-irons and heavy wrenches. They’ve blocked the lower gangway.""If those boilers cool by even ten degrees, the vacuum-friction on the outer h

"Stand back!" Mavrik hissed, dragging Varkelion by his leather collar just as a hot jet of black, greasy bile sprayed from the structural pillar.The liquid hissed on the deckplates, eating through the iron with a wet, bubbling growl. The smell of burning hair and hot copper filled the narrow maintenance corridor."That’s not hydraulic fluid," Varkelion said, his hand already on his revolver."It’s not," Mavrik panted. He wiped grease from his forehead, his hand shaking so hard he dropped his wrench. "It’s blood, Varkelion. Or whatever this thing uses to keep its bones together.""The train is steel, Mavrik. It doesn't have bones.""Look at the weld!" Mavrik pointed a trembling finger at the support beam.The patch-plate they had welded over the hull breach three hours ago was warping. The cold-rolled steel wasn't just cracking; it was being pushed outward, peeling away like dead skin. Beneath the metal, thick, fibrous grey threads were pulsing, knotting themselves into tight, muscle-

"Don't touch the fibers!" Mavrik warned, his face pale as salt. He grabbed Harlan’s collar with a desperate, two-handed grip, hauling the boy upward with enough force to make his own shoulder pop."They're inside me!" Harlan shrieked, the sound tearing through the cramped corridor like a jagged blade. "They're burrowing into the bone!"Varkelion didn't hesitate. He swung his heavy, brass-bound revolver, but he didn't aim for the floor. He aimed for the boot. A single, thunderous roar erupted from the barrel. The percussion shattered the silence and sent a shockwave of sound vibrating through the bulkhead. The heel of Harlan’s boot disintegrated into a spray of shredded leather and grey, twitching dust."Move!" Varkelion roared, dragging both men back into the central junction.They slammed the reinforced bulkhead hatch shut, the iron groaning as it sealed. The screech of metal against metal echoed long after the locking wheel spun to a stop. Inside, the sound of rhythmic, wet thudding