The creaky iron door of the old warehouse groaned open as Silent stepped inside, his boots echoing against the cold, cracked concrete floor. Charles was already there, pacing back and forth like a caged beast, waiting. In the dim light, his eyes gleamed with anticipation, his muscles taut as if ready to spring into action at any moment.
"You're late," Charles grunted when he spotted Silent.
Silent gave him a quick nod but said nothing. His silence was his trademark, and Charles had long since learned not to push for unnecessary words.
A low rumble in the distance grew louder, and both men turned to face the massive entrance of the warehouse. Moments later, the source of the sound came into view—a large, black truck, its headlights cutting through the dim shadows. The vehicle pulled into the warehouse and came to a halt with a hiss of its brakes.
