I activate the camera with a subtle press, angle it toward the loading dock. Through the glass I can see Kian moving into position, checking the crates that hold the artifacts he's supposedly smuggling for the Russians.
He moves with practiced efficiency, playing his role. The criminal smuggler preparing for a routine transaction, showing no sign that three rescued victims wait thirty feet away for their chance at freedom.
My pulse hammers in my ears. The selkies shift restlessly in their blankets, sensing something is about to happen. I count my heartbeats, my breaths, the seconds stretching thin.
Then headlights sweep across the warehouse entrance.
Vehicles pull into the loading area. Black SUVs bracket a panel van. The setup screams organized crime pretending at legitimacy.
"That's them," Finn says quietly. "Stay sharp."
Through the window, I watch Dimitri emerge from the lead SUV, flanked by men I recognize from the surveillance photos in my evidence file. The kind of men who look dangerous even standing still.
More guards spread out from the other vehicles. Too many of them. Enough to make this dangerous.
The camera is still recording. Faces, the way they position themselves with military precision.
Kian moves to meet them, his entire demeanor changing. The man who held my hand moments ago disappears, replaced by the criminal smuggler who's survived years embedded in the syndicate.
Dimitri's voice carries through the night, accented and cold. "O'Donnell. You are prompt. This is good."
The transaction is beginning. The Russians are focused on Kian and the artifacts. Everything hinges on the next few minutes. Whether Kian can keep them distracted. Whether we can get three traumatized victims to safety. Whether any of us survive what's about to happen.
I press myself against the wall beside the window, camera recording, and watch the Russians close in around Kian like predators circling prey.
Dimitri doesn't waste time with pleasantries. He jerks his head at his men, and they start unloading wooden crates from the panel van. These are the artifacts Kian is supposedly transporting for them. The stolen relics he told me about, and each one represents another crime the syndicate has committed.
I angle the lens to capture faces, the crates being moved. The footage will be evidence when this is over, if I survive to use it.
Kian moves to inspect the merchandise, playing his role perfectly. He's the criminal smuggler examining the shipment, checking inventory, confirming what he's moving. His body language stays relaxed, confident. Nothing suggests he's aware of the operation happening behind him.
But I can see the tension in his shoulders from here, the way his eyes track every guard's movement. He's a predator waiting for the moment things go wrong.
Behind me, Grayson and Finn are moving. Preparing the selkies for transport. Getting them ready to load into the vehicles positioned just outside the north entrance. The extractionis happening right now, while the Russians focus on their transaction at the south loading dock.
My heart hammers against my ribs. This is actually working.
"You have the payment?" Kian's voice carries through the broken window.
Dimitri gestures to one of his guards, who retrieves a briefcase from the Mercedes. "Payment as agreed. Now show me what you recovered from the wreck site."
Kian leads them to a wooden crate on a pallet. He opens it with practiced efficiency, revealing carefully packed artifacts. Celtic metalwork, corroded but still beautiful. The kind of pieces that belong in museums, not on the black market.
Dimitri examines each piece with the care of someone who knows their value. His guards spread out, securing the perimeter. Professional. Dangerous.
Through my camera lens, I capture every detail. The artifacts. The transaction. The faces of men who think they're conducting routine business.
One of the selkies behind me makes a soft sound, quickly muffled by Grayson's hand. Too quiet for the Russians to hear over the wind and harbor noise, but my nerves spike anyway.
Finn shoots me a look. “Almost ready,” I say. “I just need a few more minutes.”
Dimitri holds up a bronze artifact, his expression changing to something hungry. "This piece. This is from the inner sanctum. How did you access that section of the wreck?"
"Trade secret." Kian's smile doesn't waver. "You're paying for results, not methodology."
"Perhaps." Dimitri sets the artifact down with care. "Or perhaps you've been holding back. Perhaps there are more valuable pieces you haven't shared with your partners."
The accusation hangs in the air like smoke.
