The night was bitterly cold by the docks, where the only light came from a few flickering, dim streetlights and the occasional glint off the ocean's surface. The darkness felt oppressive, hanging heavy in the air like a thick fog.
The docks were eerily silent, save for the distant lapping of waves against the hulls of rusting ships and the occasional creak of old wood. Stacks of crates loomed like silent sentinels, their shapes barely distinguishable in the gloom.
The air carried a faint scent of death and decay, a sickly-sweet odor that no amount of industrial-strength cleaning chemicals seemed capable of erasing. The place felt forgotten, abandoned to time and the elements.
A tall, dark-skinned young man stood near the edge of the docks, his eyes scanning the shadows warily. His buzz-fade haircut was neat, contrasting with his rugged surroundings.
