The air stank of ice and death, the walls themselves covered in a thin veneer of glass that collected rays of the dim hanging bulbs. The rusted sheet that made the room shown like giant, flimsy slabs of jet, chocolate, and silver under frost and bulb light. Nothing was left untainted by the dawn of winter; chairs, terminals, desks, all painted with the whites and nothing of chill. [i]Cold[/i], Torrid thought, breath leaving a sizable cloud,[i] all this is[/i]...