The side door of the warehouse was reinforced steel. Elena raised her gun, but Caleb stopped her hand with a gentle touch on her wrist.
"No bullets," he whispered. "They will hear the echo. Use the lockpick kit from the truck."
She nodded, her breath puffing in the cold air. She worked quickly, her fingers numb, her eyes darting to the dark windows of the building. She felt exposed, a target in a vast, open killing field.
With a soft click, the lock gave way.
Caleb leaned heavily on her as they slipped inside. The warehouse was a cathedral of industry. The ceiling soared fifty feet overhead, crisscrossed with rusted gantries and catwalks. Massive shipping containers were stacked like children's blocks, creating shadowy canyons and dead ends.
The air smelled of salt, oil, and old coppe
