“I am the one who decoded it,” I said. “I can show them the physical tension of the thread. I can prove it came from Vancamp’s workshop.”

Aries stared at me for a long moment.

The car bounced over a deep pothole as we neared the industrial docks of Brooklyn.

“If you enter that room, there is no going back,” he said.

“They destroyed my shop, Aries,” I said. “My father’s tools are under that broken glass. I have nothing to go back to anyway.”

He reached out and placed his hand over mine, covering the wet silk.

“You will have a new shop,” he said.

The car slowed down, turning into a gated yard lined with rusted shipping containers.

The sign on the gate read *Thorne Maritime Services*.

Two guards in long black slickers stood by the entrance, their hands resting on their hips near their holsters.

Killian rolled down his window.

The guards looked inside, their faces pale under the yellow floodlights.

They immediately stepped back and pushed the iron gates open.

We drove deep into the yard, stopping behind a large corrugated steel warehouse.