In one of the containers, the door was basically shut , left only slightly ajar , allowing those inside not to see what was happening directly in front of them outside.
Two guards stood by the entrance, two men from the Black Hounds. They leaned against the cold metal, faces carved from the same dullness as the container walls, watching the gaps between crates like hunters waiting for movement.
Inside that particular container were Anton and Sheri. Both looked slightly nervous. Anton , especially , was biting his nails, fingers worrying at the skin as if nail-bitten edges could steady his thoughts. The metal box smelled of dust and old oil. Light from the narrow opening slashed across the floor and cut their faces in half, leaving the rest in shadow. The air inside was still; the world outside was a muffled roar.
