Rafael didn’t remember when the night stopped feeling cold.

Only that it smelled like rust, gasoline, and old rain trapped in concrete.

The warehouse stood at the edge of the port—abandoned on paper, very much alive in reality. One flickering light above a steel door, buzzing like an insect that refused to die. Rafael stood beneath it, jacket unbuttoned, hands bare despite the chill. His phone vibrated once in his palm.

Unknown Number: He’s inside. Alone. Won’t be again for long.

Rafael locked the screen.

Inside his chest, something shifted. Not anger—he had known anger all his life. This was quieter. Denser. A weight settling into place.

He pushed the...