Vows of Graphite and Guilt
The sound of its hydraulic pistons was like the grinding teeth of a giant beast.
"No, no, no," Clara gasped, sprinting toward the stairs.
Her boots clattered against the stone steps as she bounded up them, two at a time. The gap in the door was closing fast. Three feet. Two feet. She lunged forward, throwing her hand out, hoping a motion sensor would catch her movement and force it open.
Thud.
The door sealed with a deafening, airtight click. The magnetic locks engaged, the sound echoing through the stairwell like a gunshot.