Fog rolled off the harbour like smoke from a dying fire. It coiled between steel shipping containers, wrapped around corroded cranes, and curled through rusted fences like a serpent finding its way home.
Dock 4C was silent. Too silent.
The faint creak of mooring lines and the occasional splash of black water were the only sounds—until bootsteps broke through it. Sharp. Unyielding. Purposeful.
Ava Reed moved like a shadow in the mist.
She was clad in obsidian—an armoured tactical suit stitched with Kevlar and high-grade ballistic mesh, molded perfectly to her frame. It absorbed light, almost seemed to drink it. Under the hood of her tactical cloak, her face was shielded by a matte black mask. Her eyes, exposed and focused, burned like twin blades behind narrow visors.
No jewelry. No sentiment. Just silence and precision.
Around her moved a dozen hand-picked La Rosa enforcers, armed with suppressed rifles and hand signals. No one spoke unless she allowed it.
