Night pressed heavy over the outskirts of the city, thick, unmoving, the kind of night where silence felt deliberate. The warehouse rose out of the darkness like an abandoned beast; rusted metal siding, shattered windows, and jagged roofing, all dull under the weak spill of moonlight. It was the kind of place people noticed only when they were in danger. The kind of place law enforcement had learned to ignore.
Inside, however, nothing was abandoned.
The atmosphere was alert, precise.
Men moved across the warehouse floor with military discipline, boots echoing against concrete. Their shadows stretched and folded beneath flickering industrial lights. Wooden crates were being lifted, stacked, secured, crates with no serial numbers, no shipping tags. Only a chalk marking recognizable only to men in certain circles.
Guns.
Custom-modified firearms.
Military-grade pieces that cost more than some houses in the city.
No mistakes allowed.
And Ace was overseeing everything.
