Scarlett’s POV The road was slick with rain, glinting like glass beneath the headlights. The time on the note haunted me — 9:00 p.m. — as if every second closer was another heartbeat stolen. I shouldn’t have gone alone, but Damien’s warnings had only made me more certain. If Maria was alive, I needed to see her with my own eyes. The car’s wipers dragged across the windshield in a slow, rhythmic scrape. Every sound felt too loud: the hum of the engine, the whisper of the tires, the pulse in my own throat. The coordinates led to an abandoned shipyard on the city’s edge. Steel cranes towered like rusted skeletons, their shadows slicing across the wet asphalt. I killed the engine and sat for a moment, staring through the fogged glass. No movement. No light. Just the storm, and the ache of my own heartbeat. I stepped out, my boots splashing into a shallow puddle. The air smelled of salt and iron, thick and metallic. Somewhere in the distance, a chain clinked against metal,
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