Nikolai slept harder than he had in weeks. When he finally woke, his body felt heavy but clear, the kind of rest that wipes away exhaustion.
He rolled out of bed and went straight into a workout. Push-ups, squats and more
Nothing fancy, just movement to get his blood going and shake off the stiffness. Sweat ran down his back by the end, muscles warm and loose.
A cold shower followed. Not by choice, the heater had been dead for months, and the pipes here were unreliable, but the freezing water shocked him awake and sharpened his head. He stood under it longer than usual, forcing himself to get used to the bite.
Once dressed, he checked his wallet. Enough cash for food. That was enough.
He locked the door behind him and stepped out.
The streets were calm this early, a few shopkeepers dragging shutters up, a dog trotting past with no owner in sight.
He walked a few blocks to a small café that smelled like butter and toasted bread long before he reached the door.
Inside, he ordered breakfast, eggs, toast, and tea, then took a seat by the window.
The table was scratched and the chair wobbled a little, but the sunlight spilling in felt good.
He ate slowly, eyes wandering past the glass, watching the quiet flow of the street while his mind started to turn again.
He finished the last sip of tea, left a few coins on the table, and headed out. The walk back felt calm at first, quiet streets, the low buzz of traffic building up as the city woke.
Then an SUV rolled up and stopped clean across his path.
Nikolai's shoulders tensed for half a second before he saw the window roll down. Same car from last night's ride. One of Moreno's men behind the wheel.
He stepped off the sidewalk and opened the door without waiting for an invite. "Morning," he said flatly.
The driver gave a nod but didn't bother with small talk.
Nikolai slid in and shut the door. As the SUV pulled away, he realized there'd been no plan for contact.
They came for him when they wanted; that was the system. It said plenty about who held control right now.
He didn't fight it. Just watched out the window as the city blurred past.
The deeper they drove, the more the streets changed.
First the cracked sidewalks and corner shops he knew, then the lanes stretched wider, the buildings heavier and more industrial.
They passed clusters of garages, warehouses, and stacks of freight containers baking in the pale sun.
The route twisted through half-abandoned blocks where it was easy to disappear, exactly the kind of place someone like Moreno would work from.
Not prime real estate, but close enough to the main highway that you could shoot straight toward the capital if you needed to move weight fast.
The SUV finally turned down a narrow side road and slowed as the warehouse came into view.
Big steel doors. Chain-link fences. Enough empty space around to see trouble coming early. Not polished, but professional enough.
They stepped through the side door into the main warehouse.
The smell of oil and metal hit first, followed by the sound of easy conversation echoing off the high walls.
A group of men stood near a stack of crates, leaning against cars that looked half-prepped.
"…I'm just saying, if she says she's into cars, that's a green flag," one guy was saying loudly. He was broad-shouldered, leather jacket creaking as he gestured with both hands. "First date, she asked me about horsepower—"
Another voice cut in dryly. "And then left when she saw yours."
Laughter broke out from the small group.
"Shut the hell up, Vee," the big guy barked, though he was grinning. "You wouldn't know horsepower if it ran you over."
A slimmer man with a shaved head snorted. "Bro, your 'experience with women' is one drunk girl at a gas station asking for jumper cables."
"Hey! She touched my arm," the big guy fired back. "And said 'you look strong.'"
"Then called her boyfriend two minutes later," someone else added, and the whole corner erupted again.
Even Nikolai smirked despite himself. The teasing had that easy edge he'd heard before jobs; men laughing a little too hard to hide nerves.
One voice, a woman's this time, sharp and amused, joined in from the far side of the crates.
She leaned on the hood of a dark coupe, boots crossed. "Wow, imagine bragging about women when your pickup line is offering free oil changes."
"That works sometimes," the big guy protested.
"Yeah, with grandmas," she shot back, and everyone howled.
The driver from the SUV jerked his chin toward a quieter section deeper in the warehouse, signaling Nikolai to follow and leave the banter behind.
They followed the narrow hallway until the driver stopped at a thick metal door and knocked twice.
"Enter," came the calm, low voice Nikolai now recognized, Moreno's.
They stepped inside a plain office overlooking the warehouse through a single long window.
A steel table sat in the middle, a few folders neatly stacked on top, and behind it stood Moreno. Jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled, still composed but with a quiet presence that filled the space.
"Thanks," Moreno said to the driver without turning.
The driver nodded once and left, shutting the door behind him.
Moreno's gaze shifted to Nikolai, sharp and deliberate. "So… Nikolai Crowe."
Nikolai felt the weight of that. He hadn't once given Moreno his name. The man was showing reach, making it clear he could dig into someone with ease. A quiet way of saying I already own the room you're standing in.
Nikolai debated playing surprised, then decided against it. And just acted normal instead.
"Mr. Moreno," he replied simply.
"I trust you slept well," Moreno said, his tone unreadable as he gathered a folder, flipped it open, then closed it again. "Come. Let's meet your team. I'm sure you heard them earlier."
As he moved to the door, Moreno muttered a line in Spanish.
[Even the deaf could hear them]
Nikolai understood every word; Spanish wasn't foreign to him thanks to his father and his old life.
Nikolai fell in step behind him without hesitation.