The escape was chaos wrapped in fire.
Selene's shadows bled across walls, carving illusions that confused the advancing enforcers. Evangeline hurled tools from her satchel, machines turning traitor mid-battle, snapping their brass jaws upon their masters. Elric led through smoke, cane striking out at pressure valves, bursting steam that blinded pursuers.
But the cost was high. Their Anomalist allies fell one by one, their gifts burning out against the relentless tide of iron. The silver-eyed girl reappeared at the edge of the fray, her eyes empty, her movements stiff — a puppet now, gears burrowed into her skin. Selene struck her down in silence.
At last, they clawed their way free into the dawn atop the Iron Spire. Below them, Brasswick sprawled — chimneys, smokestacks, zeppelins drifting lazily above a fog-thick city.
And then they saw it.
The city pulsed. The streets themselves throbbed like arteries, steam vents exhaling in perfect rhythm. The gaslights flickered as one. The entire city was breathing, slow and inexorable, as though awakening from slumber.
Evangeline collapsed to her knees. "The Veil… it's begun. He's wrapped the city in his design."
Elric gripped his cane so tightly his knuckles cracked. His voice was iron."Then Act II begins not in shadows — but in war. We tear the heart from this machine, or Brasswick will never breathe free again."