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Summary
The warehouse stinks of rot and rain, a metallic, earthy scent that settles heavy in his lungs.
For a moment he pauses there, letting his eyes adjust to the dim darkness and straining for any sound. If Fisk’s intel could be trusted, the target was here and had been for days, laying low.
A heavy hitter, Vanessa had said, lip curling in displeasure. Pledging loyalty to an unknown party. The directive was simple: Get rid of them before they became a problem. She’d recommended exercising caution and urgency, and from the stiff way she’d held herself, he would guess it to be a personal matter.