The transport arrived at six forty-one in the morning.
Not at the substation. Hunter had arranged the arrival point as the eastern fabrication district loading bay — the same decommissioned space where he had sat on publication day watching his phone produce notifications and where he had first met Carver in the dark. It was open air. No enclosed infrastructure. No grid connections.
That had been Dayo's instruction, sent at five-thirty in a message Hunter had read while making coffee in the dark: Open air arrival point. Not the substation. Not the apartment. Open air.
Hunter had understood immediately.
The loading bay was open to the sky through the buckled roof section. The city's glow came down through the gap. The space was large enough for a vehicle and the people who came with it
