The night smelled of salt, rust, and rain-soaked rope.
Kairo's car rolled to a stop a block short of Pier 14, its engine cutting into silence. The glow of dock lamps shimmered off wet pavement, the light broken by the silhouettes of stacked shipping containers and the skeletal shapes of cranes.
Elira stepped out first, the air damp against her skin. The city was quieter here, the sounds of nightlife muted to a distant hum — replaced by the low groan of water slapping against hulls and the clink of chains shifting in the wind.
Kairo came around the car, his coat collar turned up against the chill. His men were already scattered, dark figures melting into shadows along the pier. Every movement had been rehearsed, every escape route calculated.
"This isn't going to be clean," she said quietly, her eyes on the faint plume of smoke curling from a ship's stern.
"It never is," he replied. His voice was even, but his gaze never stopped scanning — every door, every crane arm, every patch of shadow.
They moved together toward the pier, boots silent on the slick asphalt. The closer they got, the stronger the smell of diesel and cold metal. Somewhere, a chain snapped taut with a sharp metallic twang.
At the end of the pier, an old freighter loomed — The Veridian. Her hull was scarred, paint peeling in strips, the name barely visible under rust. A gangway connected it to the dock, and at its base stood two men in heavy coats, their faces turned away, as if watching the water.
Kairo's hand brushed briefly against Elira's arm — not a warning, not exactly reassurance, but something in between. "Three minutes. If they don't take the bait, we pull back."
She gave a single nod, eyes sharp. "And if they do?"
"Then we make sure no one walks away with what's ours."
The lamp above them flickered once, throwing their faces into shadow. It was the signal — somewhere unseen, their men began to move.
From the deck of the freighter, a figure appeared — tall, broad-shouldered, moving with the deliberate calm of someone who believed the night belonged to him.
Kairo's jaw tightened. "Rahn."
Rahn's boots thudded on the gangway as he descended, the metallic clang carrying over the water. His coat, a heavy black wool lined with something darker, swung with his stride. He stopped halfway down, one hand resting lazily on the railing, like a man pausing to greet a friend — though there was nothing friendly in the way his eyes locked on Kairo.
"You've been difficult to find," Rahn called down, his voice carrying a smooth, accented drawl. "And I see you brought company."
His gaze slid toward Elira, slow enough to make his intention clear.
Kairo didn't flinch, didn't move. "You didn't look hard enough."
Rahn's smile curved just enough to show teeth. "Oh, I looked. The problem is, Lord Kairo, you keep killing the people I send to deliver invitations."
From the corner of her eye, Elira noted two shapes moving on the freighter's deck — men, shifting in the shadows near the crates. Armed, judging by the way they moved. She didn't need to look at Kairo to know he'd already clocked them.
"You're late," Kairo said flatly.
"And yet," Rahn replied, taking another step down the gangway, "you're here anyway. Which means you need something from me."
Kairo's coat shifted as he slid one hand into his pocket — not a casual gesture, but a coiled one, the way a snake readies before striking.
"I don't need anything from you, Rahn. But you've got something that's mine."
That earned a small laugh. "That word… mine. So very territorial. But tell me—" His eyes cut toward Elira again, lingering like a blade pressing into skin. "—does it apply to her as well?"
For the briefest second, the air thickened between them. Elira didn't break her stance, but her grip on the concealed pistol at her side shifted, ready.
Kairo stepped forward, just enough to shorten the space, his voice dropping to a level that carried no further than Rahn's ears.
"You keep looking at her like that," he said, "and you won't have eyes to see anything else."
Rahn's smirk didn't fade, but something colder moved behind it. He reached the bottom of the gangway, close enough that the wind off the water whipped both their coats in the same current.
"Interesting," Rahn murmured. "Perhaps tonight will be more entertaining than I thought."
A low whistle cut through the air — not from either man.
It came from somewhere deeper in the ship.
Instantly, the two shadowed figures on deck moved into the open, rifles snapping up to their shoulders. At the same time, Kairo's men emerged from the darkness along the dock, weapons drawn, each step precise.
The world narrowed to the smell of rain and gun oil, the creak of the gangway under Rahn's weight, the steady breath at Elira's side.
"Looks like we've reached the part," Rahn said lightly, "where one of us starts bleeding."
Elira's voice was quiet but sharp as steel. "Try me first."
Kairo didn't take his eyes off Rahn. "No. He's mine."