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... cold and damp, its stale air curling around my skin like a wet shroud, heavy and wrong, thick with the sour bite of rust, the rot of decay, and the faint, stagnant tang of water pooling in unseen corners. Every breath came laced with dust—bitter, dry, and gritty, clogging my throat, scratching raw, mixing with the acrid sting of ash that clung to my sweat-damp skin, settling into the tight tank top, damp with effort, the frayed edges snagging on the jagged stone walls, tearing further, catching ...
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