“He is heading toward the dry docks,” Lucian whispered.

“There is an old escape boat moored there.”

We walked quickly, our boots making almost no sound on the damp concrete.

Lucian kept his gun raised, his eyes moving constantly from side to side.

He was a predator in his natural habitat.

The syndicate had made him hard, but there was a strange, quiet decency in him that only showed when we were alone.

We turned a corner and found ourselves in a vast, cavernous room filled with ancient, rusted boilers.

The massive iron cylinders looked like sleeping beasts in the shadows.

A single spotlight shone down from a high window, illuminating patches of dust dancing in the air.

At the far end of the room, a shadow moved.

It was Victor.

He was limping slightly, his jacket torn.

He was holding a small silver USB drive in his left hand, and his gun in his right.

He was looking behind him, his eyes wide with a fear I had never seen in him before.

He was not looking at us.

He was looking at the shadows between the boilers.