“They have resources that make my operation look small.”

He turned the car onto Fifth Avenue.

My shop was located on a quiet corner, nestled between a gallery and an antique store.

The dark green awning was soaked with rain, drooping slightly.

Aries parked in the alleyway behind the building.

“Stay behind me,” he said.

He turned off the engine and stepped out into the rain.

I followed him, pulling my coat tight around my chest.

The alley was dark and smelled of wet brick and old cardboard.

Aries unlocked the back door with a small silver key.

We stepped into the warmth of the back room.

It smelled of steam, beeswax, and expensive wool.

It was the familiar smell of my work, and for a second, I felt safe.

But the feeling did not last.

Aries locked the door behind us and turned on a single low lamp.

The shadows stretched across my cutting tables and dress forms.

“Where is the terminal?” Aries asked.

“In the basement,” I said.

“Next to the fabric storage.”

He nodded and started toward the stairs.