The sky was beginning to pale — that thin, bruised light before dawn that made the docks look like they were holding their breath.

Evelyn’s boots splashed through shallow puddles as she and Hale moved between stacks of rusted cargo containers. Every step echoed off the steel walls around them.

The Dockside Transit warehouse loomed ahead — a long, low structure half-swallowed by fog. Its windows were dark, the sign above the loading bay barely visible: SECTOR C — AUTHORIZED ENTRY ...