Iron and Steam

The floor led me to iron. It was taller than me, ribbed, painted thick over old metal. I paused at its base. Inside the pipes, water knocked in a slow, uneven rhythm. Clack. Then hiss. I braced my boots against the floorboard and pressed a gloved palm flat against the lowest rung. The heat was sharp, almost blistering through the leather, but I held my ground. I stayed there until the pulse settled, mapping the draft that seeped beneath it.