Flashback: Two Nights Earlier

"Let’s hope not,” he said. “Because if they are…”He paused, reaching into his coat for his flashlight.“…they already know we’re looking for them.”The rain hadn’t started yet, but the clouds had already begun to gather—thick, gray, and low over Public Storage lot. The hum of the security lights was the only sound breaking the stillness of the evening.

Inside Unit 47B, a man was pacing.

Victor Darnell, mid-fifties, ex–dock foreman. His hands were rough, his jacket stained from years of work on the waterfront. He kept checking his watch, then the small metal box on the crate beside him.

“Come on, come on,” he muttered.

The box was old but sturdy—navy blue, with a padlock that had been neatly cut open. Inside were a few documents wrapped in plastic, a USB drive, and a photograph. The photo showed five men in high-visibility vests standing in front of a shipping container marked Blue Harbor Imports.

All five were smiling. One of them was Victor.

He glanced at the photo again and rubbed his temple. “You shouldn’t have taken that contract, Hale,” he whispered, voice trembling. “None of us should’ve.”

A car door slammed outside. He froze. Footsteps echoed against the wet pavement. Someone was approaching.

Victor grabbed the metal box and tucked it behind a stack of crates. The footsteps stopped just outside the unit.

Then—three knocks.

“Victor,” a voice called softly. “You said you had something for me.”

Victor hesitated. “You’re late.”

The door rattled as the stranger stepped inside. The faint glow of a flashlight cut through the dark.

“I had to make sure I wasn’t followed,” the voice replied. Calm. Confident. Too confident.

Victor’s jaw tightened. “You told me no one would get hurt. You said the fire was just cleanup.”

“It was.”

“Then why are they all dead?”

Silence. Then—

“Because someone started asking questions.”

Victor barely had time to turn before the figure moved. A dull flash of metal caught the light—then a wet, heavy sound filled the room.

The flashlight fell to the floor, its beam rolling across the concrete. Victor’s hand reached for the crate, fingers brushing the edge of the blue box… before his body went still.

The killer crouched, steady and deliberate, and picked up the photo from the floor. They stared at it for a long moment—then tore it cleanly in half.

Outside, thunder rolled in from the harbor.