Third person's POV
By the third day, Ethan stopped trying to count the hours.
There was no morning inside the shipping container, no evening, only thin ribbons of light that slipped through the narrow gap between the cargo doors before fading again. They were the only proof that time was still moving, though he had long since lost any sense of how much of it had passed.
The container had become its own world.
The stale heat pressed against his skin without mercy, trapping the smell of rust, engine oil, sweat, and the ocean inside the cramped steel walls. In one corner sat an empty water bottle that had become a necessity rather than a choice. Even with the cap screwed on as tightly as he could manage, the odor lingered, turning every breath into an effort.
He had tried moving away from it.
There was nowhere to go.
