THE WAREHOUSE
Day 118 — 11:47 PM, Red Hook Textile Factory
The warehouse smelled like rust and old blood.
I was leaning on Marco’s arm, my body screaming with every step. The doctors had said absolutely not. I’d left the hospital anyway, dressed in black tactical gear that barely fit over my bandages, with a small pistol strapped to my thigh that I had no business carrying.
Dante had tried to stop me.
I’d walked out of the hospital room anyway.
“Stay behind me,” Marco whispered. “If Ghost sees you, if he realizes you’re here...”
“He already knows,” Dante said from my other side. His voice was cold. Certain. “That’s why he chose this location. He knew we’d come. He knew Aria would come.”
The warehouse was dark except for a single light hanging from the ceiling.
Directly below it st
