The night pressed down heavy, the kind of thick dark that swallowed headlights whole. Noah killed the engine a block from the warehouse, letting the silence settle over us.
“You ready?” he asked, though his tone wasn’t really a question.
I nodded anyway, gripping the flashlight like it was more than a piece of plastic, like it was a weapon.
We walked the rest of the way on foot, keeping close to the shadows. The warehouse loomed ahead, four stories of rotting brick and broken windows, its metal door yawning like a mouth. A single bulb above it flickered, casting sickly yellow light that made the shadows dance.
Noah scanned the perimeter with his flashlight, beam low and quick. “No guards, no movement.”
“Too quiet,” I whispered.
He gave me a sharp look. “Stay close.”
The door groaned
