72 "Echoes of Deception and the Midnight Harvest: Surviving the Fractured Legacy of a Blood-Soaked Empire"

The entrance to Warehouse B was a massive, sliding corrugated iron door left ajar by about two feet, leaking a pale, sickly yellow streak of fluorescent light onto the wet concrete apron outside.

I pressed my back against the damp exterior wall, sliding sideways until I reached the opening, peering cautiously into the cavernous interior.

The warehouse was a cathedral of rust and abandoned freight containers. Stacks of rotting wooden pallets and empty shipping crates formed a labyrinth of deep shadows beneath the soaring rafters. In the absolute center of the open floor space, a single overhead work light cast a harsh circle of illumination over two figures.

Evan was strapped securely to a metal folding chair, his head slumped forward, a strip of silver duct tape sealing his mouth. He was shivering violently, soaked in cold sweat.

Standing behind him, holding a long-barreled hunting rifle loosely across his forearm, was a man in a dark trench coat.

And off to the side, leaning against a stack of steel cargo containers with her arms crossed over her ruined evening gown, stood Diana.

“He’s late,” Diana called out, her voice echoing hollowly through the cavernous space. “Do you think he figured out the gas purge, Richard?”

The man in the trench coat stepped forward into the circle of light, lowering his hood to reveal the sharp, cruel features of Richard Sterling—Arthur’s brother, and the financial mastermind behind Vantage Logistics.

Richard smiled, a thin, ugly twist of his lips. “Marcus has always been resourceful, Diana. That’s why he’s survived this long. But resourcefulness doesn't stop a bullet when you’re walking into an ambush.”

I didn't wait for them to finish their conversation.

Moving in total silence, I slipped around the corner behind a stack of empty steel containers, working my way closer to their flank while keeping a massive shipping crate between myself and Richard's line of sight.

“Marcus!” Richard shouted into the empty shadows, raising his voice so it bounced off the metal walls. “I know you’re out there! Come out into the light, or the boy takes a slug to the kneecap right now!”

I stopped behind a crate ten feet to their left. Through a narrow gap in the corrugated metal, I could see Evan’s eyes snap open, wide and terrified, staring directly toward my hiding spot.