The basement of the foundry was a tomb of weeping concrete and rusted, groaning pipes. The air was thick, tasting of ancient dust, wet stone, and the copper tang of old blood that had stained these floors decades ago. Silvio’s men had thrown us inside with a calculated brutality, their laughter echoing as the heavy iron door slammed shut with a final, soul-crushing clang. The sound of the iron bolt sliding into place felt like a death sentence being carried out in slow motion.
The only light in our small, suffocating universe came from a single, flickering bulb protected by a rusted wire cage on the ceiling. It hummed with a low, irritating frequency, casting long, distorted shadows that danced against the damp walls like restless ghosts. I stumbled back, the rough surface of the concrete
