The gravel road running alongside the retired crane tracks didn’t feel like an escape path; it felt like the bottom of an abandoned quarry.
The Volvo’s headlamps cut through the salt fog in two yellow, greasy blocks of light, illuminating the black iron columns of the shipping terminal as they slipped past the windows. The six-cylinder engine was running with a heavy, wet vibration that filled the cabin, a low-frequency rumble that sat right behind Elias’s ribs and wouldn't go down.
Damien sat in the passenger seat, his chin tucked into the high, stiff collar of his black cashmere sweater. He hadn't turned on the dashboard lights. The only illumination came from the green phosphor glow of his phone screen, which was resting against his knee, the screen reflecting off the flat, hard angle
