The rust-red clouds were like old cotton wool that had been torn apart and then forcibly stuck together, pressing heavily over the Iron Dome City, with every gap exuding a suffocating lead-grey color. Lu Chengze leaned on the iron car of the rusty bone train, and the vibrations coming from his fingertips had an ominous pattern, like the heart of a giant beast beating in vain outside the chest. He looked down at the little rivet in his arms. The girl's silver hair was dampened by the steam, and there were a few tiny rust-colored particles stuck to the ends of her hair, like iron filings falling on the snow.
"Aze, my spring seems to be slow again." Xiao Jiao's voice was hoarse as if she had just woken up. She raised her hand and pressed it on her chest. There was a polished brass spring embedded there. It was an antique that Lu Chengze dug out from the old machinery warehouse. It would make a soft "click-click" sound when it was running, like a tireless little insect.
