James stepped out of the taxi at the edge of the Warehouse District.
The driver gave him a wary look but said nothing. He took the payment and drove off quickly, the taillights disappearing around a corner within seconds. James watched them vanish, then turned toward Dock 7.
The area was industrial and run-down. Old warehouses lined the waterfront, most of them abandoned or barely operational. Rusted shipping containers were stacked in uneven piles between buildings, some leaning at dangerous angles. The pavement was cracked and broken, weeds growing through every gap. A few dim streetlights flickered overhead, casting weak yellow light that barely penetrated the darkness.
The smell of saltwater and rust hung heavy in the air. In the distance, James could hear the sound of water lapping against the docks and the creak of old metal shifting in the wind.
