I arrived at the freight station six minutes early and walked the platform before he entered it.
The west building was structurally sound — Caleb's advance team had cleared it two days prior and confirmed the load-bearing columns, the roof integrity, the exit sightlines through the four open archways. The east section was collapsed, which was fine; the collapse had happened fifteen years ago and the western end had not been touched by it. The platform along the track side was open-air, elevated slightly above the ground level, with a clear view in three directions. I walked it slowly, checking what I would see, what could be seen from each archway, where the light came from at this hour of the afternoon.
By the time I was satisfied, I had four minutes.
I stood at the center of the platf
