Chapter 83 – Freight Yard
The old freight yard lay in the industrial dead zone east of the city, where the smell of rust and oil clung to the air like a second skin. Even from the ridge, Kairo could see the long-dead rail lines, half-buried in weeds and gravel, the yard's perimeter hemmed in by chain-link fence topped with tired coils of razor wire.
The safehouse was no house at all. It was a converted warehouse, low and blocky, its corrugated metal walls stained with decades of soot. A single sodium lamp hummed above the main loading bay, throwing a jaundiced light across the cracked asphalt.
"They're awake," Elira murmured beside him, watching the two men posted by the loading bay doors. Both wore civilian clothes, but the squared shoulders and the way their eyes moved marked them as trained.
Kairo studied the yard with his field glasses. Two more men patrolled the fence line. No guard dogs, no obvious cameras — Vale's people were confident in their secrecy. Or arrogant.
"Entry points?" Elira asked.
"South wall's got a rusted service door. No light, no sightlines. If it's locked, we'll make it quiet."
She gave him a short nod. "And inside?"
"Unknown. Which means we don't go in blind."
They moved in low, slipping between the shadows of derelict boxcars that sat frozen on the rusted tracks. The ground was littered with shards of glass and twisted scrap, every step calculated to avoid sound.
When they reached the south wall, Kairo knelt beside the service door. The metal was pitted and flaking under his gloved fingers. One quick look told him the lock was old but not cheap — a professional touch in an otherwise forgotten corner.
"Thirty seconds," he murmured.
Elira angled herself toward the yard, her pistol steady in a low-ready grip, eyes scanning the dark.
The lock gave with a muted click. Kairo eased the door open, just enough to slip inside.
The air in the warehouse was colder than outside, heavy with the scent of machine oil and dust. Stacks of unmarked crates formed narrow corridors, the dim light from the few working fixtures barely cutting the gloom. Somewhere deeper in, the muffled sound of voices carried.
They moved as one, steps silent on the concrete.
The voices grew clearer — two men arguing in hushed tones. Kairo caught the edge of their conversation.
"… told you, he won't like the delay—"
"Then you tell him yourself. I'm not rushing a shipment this size without—"
Kairo's hand brushed Elira's arm — signal to hold. He motioned toward the crates, leading her around the sound.
Through a narrow gap, they saw them: two mid-level enforcers hunched over a table covered in maps, invoices, and a small ledger.
Elira's gaze flicked to the ledger. "That's shipment tracking," she whispered.
Kairo's mind was already there. If Vale had shard shipments moving, the ledger could map the whole network.
He moved first. One sharp step into the open, gun raised. "Hands where I can see them."
The men froze. One started to speak, but Elira was already behind them, her pistol pressing into the base of his skull.
"Ledger," Kairo ordered.
The first man's eyes darted toward the table — a mistake. Kairo crossed the space, snatching the book and tucking it into his coat.
"You're going to tell me where the next shipment is headed," he said evenly.
The second man shook his head. "You kill us, you get nothing."
Kairo smiled faintly. "You think I need both of you alive?"
The man's jaw clenched. Elira pressed harder with her pistol. "Talk," she said.
Finally, the first man broke. "Pier 17. Midnight, tomorrow. Big load. Guarded."
Kairo stepped back, the information settling like a weight in his mind. "Good. That wasn't so hard."
The shots were almost gentle in the quiet, each man dropping without so much as a gasp.
Elira didn't look away. "Pier 17's locked down this time of year. That means they've bought the port authority."
Kairo's gaze was already on the south door. "Then we'll buy it back — with blood if we have to."
They slipped out the way they came, the night closing over the freight yard like it had never been touched. But inside Kairo's coat, the ledger felt heavy. Not just with paper, but with the weight of Vale's entire operation.