We parked two blocks away from the North Basin Marina, behind a row of rusted shipping containers.

The marina was surrounded by a high chain-link fence topped with barbed wire.

Adrian grabbed a small black flashlight from the center console and slipped it into his coat pocket.

“We go in through the service gate,” he whispered. “The lock is usually broken.”

We stepped out of the car into the freezing night air.

The cold seeped through my wool coat immediately.

We moved quickly, keeping close to the brick walls of the warehouses.

The only sound was the distant horn of a fogbound ship and our own soft footsteps.

We reached the perimeter fence.

Adrian found a section where the chain-link had been peeled back from the dirt.

He held the wire up, gesturing for me to go first.

I knelt down, the damp gravel pressing into my knees, and crawled through the gap.

My sleeve caught on a sharp metal barb, making a sharp tearing sound.

I froze, my heart hammering against my ribs, but no one cried out.

Adrian crawled through after me, his movements quick and silent.