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Sylas and Philip walked briskly through a deserted industrial complex, the sound of scampering rats punctuating the silence until they arrived at a rusty warehouse door. Philip wasn’t impressed.
“This doesn’t look much like a cosmetic-tech’s office to me.”
Sylas knocked on the door. There was no response. Philip scanned the façade of the building.
“It doesn’t look like anyone’s here. Are you sure this is the right address?”
Sylas knocked again.
“I’m sure.”
As he said that, the door flew open and the pair walked inside, the door closing itself with an urgency equal to that with which it had opened.
Philip looked around him at the numerous racks and boxes that were spread around the interior of the building.
“What do they store here?”
Sylas studied one of the boxes, looking for
