The ride to the warehouse was surreal, the grimy buildings of the industrial district looming out of the gray fog. I hung on to Ransom as he wove the motorcycle through the deserted streets, finally turning down a narrow, dingy alley between two buildings. We came around the back of the building, and he parked the bike in the shadows of a loading dock. The air smelled of grease and diesel fumes, metal and rust.
“Which building?” I hugged my arms around my chest. The chill that had started in the apartment rose up again, tinged with a perverse sense of anticipation.
“It’s actually down the block and over one street. Reece and Malone should already be at the corner. Let’s go.”
Our steps seemed to echo between the buildings, sounding much too loud.
“It’s a good thing we’re not sneaking up
