I could hear Vale’s breathing, slow and steady.

He was walking directly toward our row of crates.

Then, my phone vibrated violently in my hand.

The sudden buzz felt like an electric shock against my palm.

The screen lit up, casting a bright blue glow onto my face and the wooden crate in front of me.

I gasped, frantically trying to cover the screen with my hand.

But it was too late.

The flashlight beam whipped around and locked directly onto my eyes, blinding me with its white light.

“Well, well,” Vale’s voice said from behind the glare.

“Look who we have here.”

The light blinded me.

I shielded my eyes with my forearm, the cold concrete of the floor pressing through my jeans.

“Get away from me,” I said, my voice cracking in the damp air.

Vale stepped closer, his heavy leather shoes crunching on the grit.

“You shouldn’t be here, Alana,” he said, his voice flat and clinical.

He reached into his heavy wool coat pocket.

I scrambled backward, my spine hitting the rough wood of a shipping crate.