Several high-end SUVs were parked in a neat row near the loading bay.

“The meeting is in the foreman’s office on the second level,” Killian said, turning off the engine.

The silence returned, save for the heavy drum of rain on the car’s roof.

Aries reached into his coat and pulled out a small black pistol.

He checked the magazine, then chambered a round with a dry, metallic snap.

“Stay behind Killian,” he told me.

We stepped out into the cold air.

The smell of salt water, diesel, and wet rust was thick in the wind.

Killian led the way to a small side door, his hand resting on the handle.

He pushed it open, revealing a narrow concrete corridor lit by bare bulbs.

We walked up a flight of metal stairs, our footsteps muffled by the sound of the rain on the metal roof above.

At the top of the stairs, a heavy oak door stood slightly ajar.

A sliver of warm yellow light spilled out onto the landing.

I could hear voices inside, raised in argument.