The Murmansk docks stank. Old fish, engine oil, and underneath it, a chemical tang that stuck in your teeth. We were following a lead. A guy who could get us on a boat to Svalbard. The whole city felt wrong. Like a trap set and waiting.
We moved together now. Me, Kenji, Caiman, Borealis. Four ghosts in the arctic gloom. We didn't talk. We didn't need to. Kenji took point, a shadow. I was behind him. Caiman watched our backs, a mountain of quiet. Borealis was in the middle, his eyes too wide, seeing things we couldn't.
The meet was Warehouse 7. A rusty shell. Too quiet. I held up a fist. We stopped. Kenji looked back at me. He gave a single nod. He felt it too.
We went in fast. Not the door. A busted window on the side. Inside was a huge, empty space. Dust in the dim light.
Empty.
"Set
