The sky was a blanket of steel grey, clouds drifting like silent ghosts over the forgotten ruins of the industrial district. Concrete husks stood where life once thrived. One such structure—an old, rust-bitten factory—loomed at the edge of the city like a relic of war, untouched by time, avoided by everyone else.
A sleek black car rolled to a stop under the broken awning. Its engine purred to silence. Miles stepped out, his boots echoing over the gravel. He wore black. Not the kind of black you wore to disappear, but the kind that warned people not to follow.
He pushed open the creaking steel door. Inside, the air was thick with rust and mildew, and shadows clung to the corners like watchful spirits.
A man in a dark jacket approached, standing rigid with respect."Good evening, boss," he said in a low voice. "We've kept Jehan here."
Miles's gaze didn't flicker."Did he say anything?""Not yet, boss."
Miles's lips curled faintly."He will now."
