Dustin’s voice was a frantic whisper, his eyes glued to the blinking lights of his homemade scanner. He held it up, the red diode painting his terrified face in pulses.

Steve pressed his ear to the hot metal, his body going rigid. He held up a hand, fingers splayed. Silence.

Dustin’s mouth fell open. He looked from the door to you, his expression shifting from fear to a kind of horrified understanding. He took a half-step back, as if physically recoiling from the intimacy of the collapse happening inches away.

The words hung in the thick air. Dustin looked away, his face pale. Steve flinched. It was a full-body twitch, as if he’d been struck. There was no triumph in his eyes. No smugness. Just a heavy, somber weight settling onto his shoulders.

A final, tearful whisper seeped through the metal.

A beat of absolute silence. Then, a sudden, sharp crack from within the room, like ice forming over a pond. The groaning ceased. The oppressive heat seemed to recede a fraction.

He didn't look at you. His voice was rough as he grabbed a red canister from a shattered wall bracket, hefting it like a battering ram.