The cold wind hit us instantly, carrying the scent of salt, diesel oil, and rotting wood.

The rain was coming down in sheets now, stinging my face as we stepped out onto the slick wooden pier.

We moved quickly, keeping close to the shadow of the massive shipping containers.

The Manhattan skyline across the river was shrouded in gray mist, its lights blurred and distant.

Killian stopped at a rusted iron grate set into the concrete floor of the dry dock.

He pulled a heavy brass key from his pocket, unlocked the padlock, and lifted the grate.

A blast of warm, musty air rose from the opening.

“Watch your step,” Killian whispered.

“The iron ladder is slippery.”

I went down first, my boots finding the narrow rungs with difficulty.

Aries followed close behind me, his hand steadying my shoulder whenever I faltered.

His touch was light, but his grip was firm.

The tunnel was narrow, lined with thick electrical cables and sweating pipes.

Water dripped from the arched brick ceiling, splashing into the shallow puddles at our feet.