The Heart of Cogsworth
You burst through the iron door and stop dead. The Central Furnace chamber soars above you like a brass cathedral — pipes coiling up into shadow, gears the size of wagons frozen mid-turn. But the great fire at its heart is barely a whisper of orange, guttering low.
A hooded figure stands at the main control panel, one gloved hand resting on the emergency shutoff lever. One pull, and the last ember dies. The whole city goes dark — forever.
Your boots scrape the metal grating. The figure's head tilts. They know you're here.