The neon city lights began to fade, replaced by the flickering orange of sodium lamps as the Cadillac slinked into the industrial district. The smooth asphalt gave way to cracked concrete and gravel. It didn't take long for the realization to hit me like a physical blow.
"Are you taking me back to that warehouse?" I asked from the back seat, my voice losing its playful edge. A cold knot of discomfort began to tighten in my gut.
The warehouse. The birthplace of my partnership with Monet, and the place where I'd nearly checked out of this world for good. It was a cathedral of rust and bad memories.
