Aria drove through the pouring rain toward the address in the anonymous message, her hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white. The Brooklyn warehouse district loomed ahead like a graveyard of forgotten secrets, the same area where her life had once been simple — endless shifts as a waitress, struggling to keep Luca alive. Now it felt like the place where everything would either end or finally make sense. The wipers slashed across the windshield, mirroring the storm raging inside her heart.
She parked a block away and slipped out of the car, gun concealed under her jacket, her tactical boots silent on the wet pavement. The address led to an abandoned warehouse with broken windows and rusted doors. Every shadow made her pulse race, but she refused to turn back.
