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Blindness had rules.
This didn’t.
Rafe pulled the SUV up hard.
Killed the engine.
His hand rested on the door handle, but he didn’t open it.
His gaze moved. Roofline. Alley. Windows. Loading bay.
“Wait.”
His hand disappeared beneath his jacket. He scanned the rooftops. The loading bays. The maze of stacked containers. Only then did he step out. He opened my door. His attention never found me. It never left the market. No words. No wasted movement. Just instinct.
The door shut behind me with a heavy thud. We moved. Shoulder to shoulder. Toward the entrance. The market breathed around me. Diesel. Bruised fruit. Wet timber. Just like before. Voices layered over one another in half a dozen languages. Then the rhythm changed.
Not from fear.
From recognition.
A man carrying crates stopped just long enough to let me pass. Another reached out and pulled a pallet clear without being asked. Eyes lifted. Then lowered.
Conversations continued…
Just quieter.
Nobody said a word.
They didn’t need to.
There was a time I’d lived more days like this than ordinary ones.
Every doorway a threat.
Every rooftop a rifle.
Every stranger a calculation.
I’d buried that man once.
Today…
He walked beside me again.
Heavy footsteps fell in sync with ours. Rafe gave a nod. He’d already clocked the movement.
Malek didn’t speak. Not here. Not where a hundred ears could pretend not to listen. He simply glanced over his shoulder and changed direction. We followed.
The market slowly disappeared behind us. Forklifts became distant. Voices faded. The sharp scent of fruit gave way to cold concrete and diesel. We passed through refrigerated storage. Rows of stacked pallets. Dark loading docks where forgotten machinery sat beneath layers of dust.
The deeper we walked, the quieter it became.
Until all that remained were our footsteps.
Malek stopped outside an old loading bay. One rusted roller door. Concrete stained black from years of oil and rain. He looked once over each shoulder. Then unlocked a smaller personal door set into the steel. The room beyond was a little more than a forgotten office. A metal desk. Two broken chairs. One flickering fluorescent tube struggling overhead.
Malek closed the door behind us.
