I moved with the silent, practiced caution of someone who had navigated the shadows of the neon nightlife for far too long. Ensuring that the other workers were occupied with the heavy lifting near the loading docks, I slipped behind a row of towering shipping containers and circled around the far perimeter of the yard. I didn't want to leave a single footprint in the soft mud or make a sound that would give me away.
The ground was littered with the detritus of a busy logistics hub—rusted metal bands, discarded shipping manifests, and broken wooden pallets. I stepped carefully over the debris, making my way toward the back of the property. There, standing in a patch of overgrown weeds and long-forgotten machinery, was an old, dilapidated storage shed. It was a secondary structure, barely
