Seraphina’s silver Aston Martin skidded to a stop twenty minutes later outside a derelict warehouse on the edge of the abandoned railway yard. The only light came from a distant sodium lamp that cast long, sickly shadows. This was the location of Kaelen’s radio workshop. He had rented the space three years ago, claiming he needed a place to restore antique valve radios, a pursuit Seraphina had always tolerated with quiet disdain as another one of his harmless, unmotivated hobbies.
She killed the engine and sat in the silence, the cold dread from the Marlowe estate giving way to a frantic energy. Her hands were shaking as she inserted the magnetic key card Kaelen had always carried. The heavy steel door slid open with a metallic groan.
The interior was exa
