The rail stopped like it hated everyone inside it.
Metal dragged under the bathhouse floor. The walls shuddered once, then settled crooked. Water sloshed out of the nearest pool and ran across the tile in a shallow sheet, carrying ash, blood, and scraps of black cloth toward a drain that had quit doing its job years ago.
Milo landed on one knee, caught himself on a cracked bench, and pointed at the ceiling. "I want the architect arrested, revived, and arrested again."
Nobody had enough strength to laugh properly at him yet.
Ty braced one hand against the wall until the room stopped leaning in his head. His palms still burned from the panel. The skin had tightened across both hands, bright and tender where heat had bitten through.
Blue sat against his collarbone, tucked under his jaw for warmth. "Your hands look like a bad cooking accident."
"Your sympathy continues to change lives around you."
"I am small, injured, and emotionally opposed to rail travel."
