The scent of brine and ozone was the first thing to greet Jack as the heavy hatch hissed open, pushed aside by Finch’s unnervingly steady hands. It was the smell of freedom, a stark contrast to the sterile, recycled air of the submersible that had been their sanctuary and transport. Cold night air, heavy with the dampness of the coast, rushed in, caressing Jack’s face. He took a deep, grounding breath, his eyes adjusting to the gloom of the abandoned naval pier.Rusting steel skeletons loomed around them like forgotten giants, silhouetted against a starless, overcast sky. The gentle lapping of water against corroded pylons was the only sound, a mournful rhythm in the dead of night. Finch moved with a liquid grace that defied his age, securing the vessel with practiced efficiency before turning to Jack. His posture was, as always, that of the perfect butler, yet his eyes held the alertness of a predator.Marcus was the last to emerge. He moved with a new, profou
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