Lucien POV
The docks at night smelled like salt and rust and the particular kind of cold that came off water and didn't care what it cost you.
I stood at the edge of a loading bay, in the shadow of a shipping container the size of a small house, and watched the two figures meet below.
My men had been here for forty minutes before I arrived. That was always the way you never walked into a space without owning it first. Three at the perimeter. Two on the upper walkway.
One close enough to the meeting point to place the wire, which he'd done twenty minutes ago under the cover of a maintenance uniform and the kind of confidence that came from doing this long enough that it stopped feeling unusual.
I watched Alistair Carter cross the dock.
He moved differently out here. No boardroom posture, no skillful authority. He walked like a man who was trying not to look like he was checking over his shoulder, which meant he was constantly checking over his shoulder.
