The rhythmic pulse of the Atlantic was still vibrating in Liam Livingston’s veins as he stood over the aftermath of the pier confrontation. The distant sirens grew into an all-encompassing wail, lighting up the rusted hulls of the shipping containers in strobing patterns of crimson and azure.
"The extraction team is nearly here," Liam noted, checking the GPS on his phone as the headlights of the first response vehicles began to sweep across the asphalt of Pier 42. "I’ll make myself scarce so you can handle the official report, Officer Miller."
"Wait," she said, her voice sounding small, constrained by the lingering chemical numbness of the Paralysis Draft. She struggled to draw a full breath, her throat tightening as the cold harbor wind bit at her skin. "I... I don't want you to leave.
