Chapter 5: The Sanctuary of Old Iron**
The railway tunnel opened into a forgotten rail yard overgrown with wild sumac and rusted freight cars. At the edge of the yard stood a weathered brick building: a former locomotive repair shop that had been converted into an off-grid machine workshop.
Victoria knocked on the heavy corrugated steel door in a rhythmic sequence: three slow, two rapid, one final heavy strike.
A small peephole slid open with a screech of iron. An eye framed by deep wrinkles and silver eyelashes peered out before the heavy deadbolts retracted.
"You’re late, Victoria," an older woman’s raspy voice echoed through the high-ceilinged workshop.
Martha Vance—a retired investigative journalist and Marcus’s mother—stood holding a heavy wrench, her gray hair tied in a bandana. The workshop smelled of diesel fuel, wood shavings, and freshly brewed black coffee.
"We had company along the ridge," Victoria said, gently setting Lily down on a workbench padded with clean woolen blankets.
Martha looked at the young girl, her stern expression softening instantly. She wiped her grease-stained hands on an apron and walked over to a small cast-iron woodstove in the corner. "You look frozen down to your marrow, little bird. Let's get some warm cider in you."
Lily looked at Victoria for permission. Seeing her mother nod with a gentle smile, Lily cautiously stepped down from the bench. "Thank you, ma'am."
"Polite," Martha remarked, glancing at Victoria. "Julianna’s signature brand of obedience?"
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"Julianna's brand of fear," Victoria corrected quietly. "We have six hours before their drone surveillance picks up our heat signature through the valley canopy."
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