Declan parked the car behind a stack of abandoned timber, well away from the main gate.

“We walk from here,” he said.

We got out, the wind pulling at my wet hair and spraying rain across my cheeks.

The harbor was mostly dark, save for the blinking yellow warning lights on the crane towers.

Warehouse Fourteen sat at the very end of the pier, its corrugated metal walls streaked with rust.

A single bulb flickered over the loading dock door, casting long shadows.

“There is a car parked near the generator shed,” Declan whispered, pointing.

It was a silver sedan, its tires caked in mud and the engine still ticking as it cooled.

“That is his,” I said, recognizing the dent in the rear fender. “He is already inside.”

“He is fast when money is involved,” Roman murmured.

We moved along the side of the wooden crates, keeping low to avoid the open spaces.

My boots squeaked slightly on the wet gravel, and I forced myself to walk lighter.

We reached the side entrance of the warehouse, a heavy steel door that stood slightly ajar.