A Narrow Escape.Eleanor's raspy breath was muffled by Silas's hard palm over her mouth as he slammed her against the warehouse's chilly steel wall. In the dim light of a single hanging bulb, shadows danced beneath them. The two men's voices were piercing and suspicious as they prowled like wolves."You also heard it," someone whispered.The other gave a grunt. "They might have been rats."Sensing the tremble in Eleanor's veins, Silas tightened his hold on her wrist. His breath warmed her ear as he drew closer. "Remain motionless."She nodded, small gulps rising and falling in her chest.Eleanor felt her pulse thumping with a sudden collision. The contents of a crate spilled into the concrete after one of the men kicked it over. The air was filled with the strong smell of whiskey as glass broke.The first man growled, "Damn it." "If anything is missing, Hartwell is going to kill us."The second guy moved toward the containers. "Then, let's confirm that nobody else is present."Silas's

An Ally in Shadows.As if to stabilize herself, Violet's fingertips traced across the polished mahogany bar as she stepped behind it. Except for the bartender cleaning glasses and the occasional chuckle from the back rooms, the speakeasy was mostly deserted now. With a deep exhale, she raised her gaze to Silas and Eleanor, her keen eyes sweeping their faces.At last, she stated in a measured, low voice, "There's a shipment." "Hartwell has a significant arrival at the docks. Something more than whiskey. Something more substantial.With his elbows resting on the counter, Silas leaned forward. "How are you aware?"Violet grinned, but it was a fake smile. "Because I set it up."Eleanor tensed. "You're involved in his scheme?"Violet gave an eye roll. Don't be naïve, my love. In this city, you can't operate a speakeasy without closing deals. Additionally, for men like Hartwell, survival comes before wants.Silas scowled. "When will it be shipped?""Tonight, tomorrow. Midnight. Pier 17. Wit

The Enforcer Strikes.The forms of Silas and Eleanor were stretched against the damaged wallpaper by the uncanny shadows created by the weak brightness of a solitary desk lamp. The chamber smelled of old paper and cigar smoke that clung to the wooden beams above, and the air was thick with dust. The map was spread out on the desk, its edges yellowed and wrinkled with age, its lines jagged and crisscrossing like wounds, engraved with mysterious symbols.Eyes narrowing, Silas ran a gloved finger over the marks. It's more than simply a map. A ledger is what it is. Notice how each symbol corresponds to the dates of shipping. The quiet between them was filled with his voice, a whisper tinged with desperation.Eleanor leaned forward, the smell of old paper blending with her perfume. With her breath vanishing into his ear, she questioned, "And the storage facility?"Silas touched a specific spot, a remote location close to the docks, tucked away in the city's industrial fringes. "This is it.