The night breeze sweeping through the Iron Empire Port carried the scent of salt, engine grease, and thick soot.
At the end of the pier, the iron hull of the NRS Orion groaned softly as it ground against the wooden fenders. The biting sea wind tonight could freeze a man to the bone.
"We're here," Borch whispered into the dark.
He pulled the collar of his long black coat tighter, hiding the Ghost Squad's wolf insignia stitched inside his sleeve. Silently, Borch slid down the mooring line, slipping right past the watchtower's searchlights.
The gentle lap of the dark seawater masked the sound of his landing on the slick concrete dock.
A second later, Naya followed. The dark-haired girl landed as lightly as a cat. Her hand instinctively hovered over the hilt of the dagger at her waist. Her eyes did a quick sweep, piercing through the thin mist crawling up from the water's surface.
