“The former,” he said. “Container’s sealed, but someone logged manual overrides on the locking mechanism. Old-school. Not electronic.”
Voodoo whistled low. “That’s deliberate.”
Bones grunted, which for Bones meant he agreed, understood, and probably hated the implications.
Grace’s voice came small but steady. “Why hide something in a container but not digitally?”
“Because the thing you're hiding,” I said over my shoulder, “isn’t supposed to exist at all.”
Her silence tightened my grip on the crowbar strapped to my pack.
We rounded the last bend into the southwest corner. Fewer workers here. Fewer forklifts. Just a quiet stretch of metal and stacked shadows.
Then I saw it. C7–B. Third row. First level.
Locked with a brand-new, polished steel mechanism that didn’t match the rust-eaten hardware around it.
Bones stopped beside me. Voodoo exhaled sharply behind him.
Grace whispered, “That’s it?”
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s the one pretending real hard to be normal.”
Bones gave me a nod—go.
I stepped forward, dropping my pack and pulling the crowbar free. The lock wasn’t chained. It was pinned. Heavy hardware, but not cartel-style. More… government surplus? Weird.
“Alphabet,” I said, wedging the bar under the latch. “You seeing this?”
“Yep. And I hate it.”
“Join the club.”
The first pin popped with a metallic snap. The second resisted. I leaned my weight into it—felt the metal bite back—then gave it a sharp jerk.
Snap.
Silence.
Everyone stilled.
Bones nodded at me. “Open it.”
I hooked the crowbar under the door lip and heaved.
The metal groaned, heavy and reluctant, like something inside didn’t want to be seen. Diesel air rushed out, stale and old.
I lifted the door high enough for Bones to duck under, then for Grace, then Voodoo.
I went last.
And the second my boots hit the steel floor inside, I knew this wasn’t cargo storage.
Too clean. Too quiet. Too intentional.
There were crates—two. A cot. A metal water jug. And far in the corner, a small figure curled into themselves like they’d made the shape permanent.
Grace gasped, a sharp inhale she couldn’t help.
