A second figure stepped from the shadows near the storage office.
Marcus Vega looked out of place on the sidewalk in a way that made him blend in anyway. Clean jacket. Neutral colors. His eyes tracked everything without lingering, as if the world offered information he could collect simply by existing inside it.
“Callahan,” he greeted, voice even.
“Vega,” I returned, trying to match his composure.
Luke angled his body slightly in front of me, subtlety protective. “You confirm we’re clear?”
Marcus’s gaze flicked across the lot and then the street. “Seems that way, but it doesn’t mean we’re alone.” He tugged a thin pair of gloves from his pocket.
My stomach dropped. Luke squeezed my hand once. “We’ll get in and out fast.”
Marcus jerked his head toward the storage office. “Unit forty-seven. Back row. It’s open.”
Guess he was the lookout. Luke and I walked toward where he’d indicated. Each step carried the sound of our shoes against the crunch of gravel until we hit the walkway.
As we passed a closed office, my reflection flashed in the glass, pale and tense. Besides mine, Luke’s was composed, controlled, almost calm.
The door was identical to the others. Beige metal. Scratched near the handle. A rusted number 47 bolted above it. A heavy padlock hung from the latch—open, already unhooked, the shackle loose against the metal.
Marcus had done his part.
Luke’s hand found mine again, fingers threading through with quiet pressure. “You ready?”
I wasn’t. I nodded anyway.
Luke’s gaze held mine a second longer, anchoring me in his presence.
He released my hand and stepped forward. The padlock came off with a dull clank as he pulled it free and dropped it gently to the concrete.
His fingers curled around the metal handle. He glanced back at me once—checking, not asking permission. Then he rolled the door up. The metal groaned as it lifted, the sound harsh against the still air.
Dust drifted in the narrow band of light that cut across the concrete floor inside. My breathing stalled as I stepped into the stale air. The space inside was small. But it was far from empty.
A battered plastic storage bin sat near the back wall, the lid cracked at one corner. A cardboard box leaned against it, taped shut. A duffel bag slumped to the side, worn and scuffed.
Luke stepped forward first, then paused, looking back at me. I matched his pace..
I glanced back to find that Marcus had joined us, but he stayed at the entrance, half in shadow, watching the lane behind us.
Luke crouched beside the large plastic storage bin shoved against the back wall and lifted the lid carefully, setting it aside without a sound. Inside were file folders, a stack of envelopes rubber-banded together, and a smaller metal lockbox tucked beneath them.
He began sorting through it with deliberate precision. “Why don’t you check that?” He gestured to a taped cardboard box near my feet.
I knelt slowly and dragged the box closer. The cardboard lid opened easily, the tape not doing much to hold it in place.Marcus had joined Luke and was sorting through documents. When he paused, there was a stillness about him that had me taking notice.
“Holy shit,” Marcus murmured.
Everything in me snapped to attention, and I turned.
“This is the smoking gun.”
Luke moved, closing the distance in two strides, eyes scanning the page Marcus held. Silence stretched. “What is it?” Luke’s voice came out low, dangerous.
Marcus exhaled slowly, jaw tightening before he finally spoke. “It’s not just notes.” He lifted the paper slightly. “This ties Darren to something bigger. Financials. Suspicious movement in the company. Names.”
My stomach dropped. “What kind of names?” I pushed up from the floor, crossing to them.
