Daryl parked his car a few blocks away, stepping out cautiously. The silence around him felt unnatural, too thick, too deliberate.
He touched his gun holster under his jacket, then checked his phone.
11:59 PM.
Celine had given him the address, but no follow-up messages. She wasn’t answering his calls either.
Daryl exhaled slowly.
This felt wrong.
But he had no choice.
He moved forward, keeping to the shadows as he approached the warehouse entrance.
The steel doors were slightly ajar, creaking softly with the night breeze. He slipped inside, his eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through cracks in the ceiling.
And then he saw her.
Celine.
She was huddled near a stack of wooden crates, her arms wrapped around herself, her whole body trembling.
“Celine,” he called quietly.
