They moved toward the port office like predators closing in on a den: easy, unhurried steps that hid a hundred ways the night could end.
But as they neared it, the two figures came out on their own.
The metal door groaned as they shoved it open, and they stepped out into the morning sun - calm at first, until the reality of the scene before them hit.
One was a slime-slick man who introduced himself to no one. Ionut was thin-cheeked, shoulders hunched, a face that had never seen a gym or kindness. He smelled faintly of grease and cheap alcohol. His shirt clung to him, damp and stained; he looked fifteen pounds away from collapse. He smiled like a sleazy scammer.
The other was a taller figure, younger in looks but steadier. A ski mask hid most of his face; his posture made him look like someone whose hands had learned to move first and think later. Kai's blood vision hummed faintly at both of them - mutant signatures, if you could call them that.
