The Rising Acid
The air in the drainage tunnels grew heavy with the smell of sulfur and wet copper. Every step Silas took felt like wading through thickening sludge, the weight of the unconscious Sheriff Elias Miller pressing down on his shoulders like a mountain of lead. Behind them, the low rumble of rushing water grew louder, a predatory growl echoing through the stone throat of the town. Rat Connors scrambled ahead, his tallow candle flickering wildly, casting long, shivering shadows against walls that had begun to weep a sickly, luminescent green fluid. They reached the North Vein Junction, a massive hollow where the timber-framed drainage pipes collided with the jagged, illicit boreholes of Finch's secret mine. The floor was already ankle-deep in icy, acidic water that hissed against Silas's leather boots. High above, the sound of a heavy iron mechanism groaned—the floodgates. Finch wasn't just hiding evidence; he was purging the system with them inside.
