Jared King sat hunched over the small kitchen table in Marcus's battered apartment, surrounded by the aftermath of the recent break-in. The rain had finally eased, but a gray sky still brooded outside, turning every window reflection into a somber portrait of Silvercoast's underbelly. He glanced at the clock on the wall—almost noon. Less than two days remained before the rumored auction at the docks. Time was slipping away like water through clenched fists.
Across from him, Ava Brooks tapped away on her laptop, eyes narrowed in concentration. Her usually confident posture looked tense. A half-empty mug of cold coffee sat forgotten at her elbow. Meanwhile, Marcus crouched on the floor, fiddling with the shattered remains of a security camera he hoped to salvage for parts. All of them bore signs of strain—smudged clothes, drawn faces, and an undercurrent of urgency in every movement.
"We have a location," Ava said finally, breaking the silence. She turned the laptop so Jared and Marcus could see the grainy photograph on the screen. It showed a dilapidated warehouse by the waterfront, its facade covered in rust and graffiti. "According to my contact, they call it the 'Greyline Depot.' It's an abandoned property near Pier Forty-Seven, supposedly used by multiple smuggling rings over the years. Now it's hosting this black-market auction."
Marcus stood, wincing at the bruise on his side. "Greyline Depot," he repeated, crossing to his desk and pulling up a map on a secondary monitor. "That area is full of old shipping lanes and crumbling piers. Some were shut down after an environmental scandal a decade ago, so it's a perfect place for illegal trade—nobody's patrolling those docks regularly."
Jared leaned closer to the laptop. "Did your contact confirm the artifact is definitely going to be there?"
Ava nodded grimly. "They couldn't say for sure it's your artifact, but everyone's buzzing about a 'rare lens' with supernatural properties. The rumor calls it 'The Shades of Authority.' That name ring a bell?"
A flicker of anger crossed Jared's face. "Marcus found references to that name on black-market forums after the thieves stole the glasses. It has to be them."
Ava closed her laptop. "Alright. Then that's our best shot to recover it. But we can't just barge in—the place will be swarming with guards, criminals, maybe even crooked city officials who want a piece of the action. We need a plan."
Marcus tapped on the keyboard at his makeshift workstation. On a second monitor, a blueprint of Greyline Depot flickered into view. "Found this in some old municipal archives. The building's layout is likely out of date, but it's the best we have. Looks like it has two main entrances: a large loading bay facing the water, and a smaller door near the east side. There's also a catwalk system inside for overhead crane operations. If we can get up there, we might avoid ground-level patrols."
Jared stood, resting his hands on the back of a chair. "So we have a partial blueprint, an approximate time—midnight tomorrow—and zero element of surprise. We need to blend in, or at least get in without being noticed."
Ava pursed her lips. "I've been thinking: my contact can sneak me in as a 'journalist on assignment' if I pose as a buyer's representative. The underworld types love flaunting their secrecy, so an 'incognito journalist' might not be the first thing they expect. Problem is, it's risky. If they discover who I really am, I might not walk out alive."
Marcus frowned. "We won't let that happen. But if you go in by yourself, you'll need backup. Jared and I could try to slip in through a side entrance, maybe use the catwalks to stay hidden. In a worst-case scenario, we create a distraction so you can snatch the artifact."
Ava's eyes flicked to Jared. "It's your call. These people framed you, stole your future, and now they have your artifact. Do you want to confront them head-on, or do you want to keep your distance until we can gather enough evidence to take them down legally?"
A fire kindled behind Jared's gaze. "I won't lie—I want payback. But we have to be smart. Charging in guns blazing is a quick path to a body bag. The priority is recovering the glasses before someone else can harness their power. If we also gather incriminating evidence, that could clear my name and expose their entire operation."
Marcus cleared his throat. "We should assume they'll be on high alert. They might suspect you'll try to reclaim the Shades of Authority. If they see you, they'll likely shoot first and ask questions never."
A tense silence settled, broken only by the muffled sounds of neighbors in the hallway. Finally, Ava closed the laptop and stood. "I'll set it up with my contact. We'll try the infiltration approach. Marcus, you keep digging for any intel on who specifically runs this ring. Knowing names or faces might help me if they question me inside. Jared, you focus on the physical plan—escape routes, vantage points, potential distractions. If it all goes south, we need a way out."
Jared nodded. "Agreed."
They spent the next few hours poring over every scrap of information. Marcus found a handful of digital footprints pointing to an entity called "The Swirl Syndicate", rumored to trade in contraband items with alleged supernatural properties. Their symbol matched the swirl tattoo Jared had seen on the intruder's wrist. Though details were scarce, rumors suggested the Syndicate had ties to corrupt officials, wealthy collectors, and even certain extremist groups who believed in arcane powers.
"That explains why they framed me at Bernington," Jared muttered, flipping through printouts. "If the Syndicate had reason to keep me quiet, they could have planted fabricated evidence to get me expelled and ruin my credibility."
Ava set down a file. "It's bigger than I thought. I'm seeing partial references to city council members who've turned a blind eye to this group. They might have police in their pocket, too."
Marcus sighed. "Which means if anything goes wrong tomorrow night, we can't rely on an official rescue. We're on our own."
Outside, the clouds parted just enough to let in a feeble beam of afternoon sunlight. It cut a bright swath across the messy apartment floor, illuminating the tension etched on each person's face. Despite the gravity of their mission, a shared resolve bound them together.
Later that evening, Ava left to finalize her cover story and gather a few necessary items—a discreet camera pen, a high-capacity recorder, and a micro-laptop loaded with her investigative files. She promised to meet Jared and Marcus at a safe spot near the docks an hour before midnight tomorrow.
Meanwhile, Jared and Marcus walked to a low-budget hardware store three blocks from The Braxton Houses. With only pocket change to spare, they purchased a coil of thin rope, a few basic tools, and several cheap LED flashlights. It wasn't much, but if they needed to sneak around the catwalks or force open a locked door, these items might give them an edge.
"This is so amateur," Jared muttered under his breath as they headed back, arms full of supplies. The overhead streetlights buzzed, creating pools of dim illumination along the cracked sidewalk. "We're going up against a criminal syndicate that sells supernatural artifacts. We can't even afford decent gear."
Marcus shrugged. "We do what we can. I set up a temporary command center in my apartment. If I can get close enough, maybe I can intercept communications inside the Greyline Depot—listen in on security frequencies."
Jared felt a surge of gratitude. Marcus had risked his life, home, and tech resources to help, expecting nothing in return. "Thanks, man," he said quietly. "You didn't have to do any of this."
Marcus offered a wry grin. "We're friends, Jared. And honestly, this is the wildest story I've ever been part of. How can I walk away?"
They slipped back into the building, ignoring the curious glances from neighbors who'd heard about the break-in. Once inside, they double-checked the makeshift latch Marcus had added to the damaged door, then spread their supplies on the living room table. Next came a round of discussions about tactics: how to deal with potential gunmen, whether they could stage a diversion with the building's power system, and how to quickly identify the Shades of Authority among other contraband.
By the time they finished, midnight had come and gone, leaving them less than twenty-four hours to finalize everything. Exhaustion tugged at Jared's eyelids, but he forced himself to press on. He refused to let fatigue or fear derail him now.
Morning arrived with the clang of a garbage truck outside. Marcus had crashed on the couch, laptop open on his chest, still scanning forum chatter about the upcoming auction. Jared had managed a fitful sleep in a recliner, haunted by dreams of faceless figures brandishing swirl tattoos and otherworldly lenses that pulsed with sinister light.
He woke to find a new message from Ava:
Ava (7:02 AM):
Contact confirmed. I have an invitation as a "broker." The auction is definitely happening at Greyline Depot, midnight. See you at the rendezvous spot near Pier Forty-Seven at 11 PM. Don't be late.
Jared read it twice, adrenaline stirring in his veins. This was it: the final countdown to retrieving the stolen artifact and, hopefully, unraveling the conspiracy that had ruined his life. He gently nudged Marcus awake, who groaned and rubbed sleep from his eyes.
"The plan's a go," Jared said, handing him the phone. "We meet at eleven tonight."
Marcus sat up, blinking. "Guess we have one day to get our nerves in order."
They spent the morning and afternoon gathering last-minute details. Jared, wearing a hooded sweatshirt and sunglasses, discreetly visited the warehouse district where he worked. He wanted to confirm the swirl-branded crate was still hidden away or if it had been quietly removed. Slipping inside under the guise of collecting a paycheck, he crept to the corridor where the suspicious crate had been stored. But it was gone, the space left conspicuously empty.
His supervisor, Dennis, nearly spotted him. "King! What are you doing back here?" the man barked from down the hall.
Jared forced a casual shrug. "Just checking if I left some personal stuff. I'll be out in a minute."
Dennis eyed him suspiciously but didn't press. Jared left the warehouse on shaky legs, heart pounding. The crate's disappearance proved how fast the Syndicate moved. All roads led to the Greyline Depot that night.
Back at the apartment, Jared relayed this news to Marcus. "They must have transported whatever was in that crate. Could be part of tonight's auction."
Marcus grimaced. "Then we definitely have to see what's for sale. Maybe the swirl crate holds more than just the Shades of Authority—could be other relics or evidence linking them to bigger crimes."
By early evening, the two had packed what they needed: ropes, flashlights, Marcus's improvised gadgets, first-aid supplies, and a burner phone for contacting Ava. They tried to eat a quick dinner of cheap takeout, but neither had much appetite. Tension hung in the air, thick as smoke.
Jared glanced at the clock: 9:45 PM. "We should head out soon. If we want to do any recon before meeting Ava, now's the time."
Marcus nodded, slipping on a dark windbreaker that concealed his electronics bag. "Let's do it."
They arrived at the pier district with plenty of time to spare. The roads were deserted, illuminated only by flickering streetlamps casting pale circles on puddle-strewn asphalt. Scattered debris drifted against the docks: rotting wooden pallets, plastic bottles, and tangled fishing nets long since abandoned. The faint stench of salt and decay wafted from the bay, filling the crisp night air.
Jared parked Marcus's battered sedan a few blocks away from Greyline Depot to avoid drawing attention. They made their way on foot, staying close to the shadows. A chain-link fence topped with barbed wire ringed the depot property, though portions of it appeared rusted and sagging. From a distance, they could see a few lights on inside the structure, illuminating dusty windows.
They found a vantage point behind a stack of defunct shipping containers, each labeled with faded company logos from years past. Marcus set up a small parabolic microphone, aiming it at the depot's side door. Through his headphones, he caught snippets of conversation from men standing guard—gruff talk about "shipment arrivals" and "V.I.P. buyers." Jared watched in silent apprehension, noting the presence of at least four armed sentries, two near the side entrance and two patrolling the perimeter.
At 10:55 PM, a muffled buzz on Jared's burner phone signaled Ava's arrival. He answered quietly.
"I'm here," she whispered. "Got the credentials from my contact. Heading toward the main entrance. Are you in position?"
Jared locked eyes with Marcus, who gave a thumbs-up. "Yes. Be careful."
Click. The line went dead. A few minutes later, the sound of an approaching car drew Jared's attention. A black SUV rumbled down the potholed road, slowing at the depot's main gate. A guard waved it through, and it disappeared into the interior. Jared guessed that was Ava—or perhaps other "guests" arriving early.
He and Marcus exchanged a determined glance. They would give Ava some time to settle inside, then attempt their own infiltration. The plan was simple: Ava would try to mingle, locate the artifact, and secretly record whatever deals took place. Meanwhile, Jared and Marcus would slip in from the east side, stay hidden on the catwalks, and be prepared to either rescue Ava or snatch the artifact if an opportunity arose.
Sweat beaded on Jared's forehead despite the cool night air. He couldn't shake the mental image of the tinted spectacles in someone else's hands—someone possibly more ruthless and cunning. The memory of how the glasses had enhanced his reflexes, how they revealed swirling auras of hostility, kept replaying in his mind. In the wrong hands, that power could tip the scales of corruption in Silvercoast, or anywhere else these criminals chose to operate.
Another text pinged on the burner phone. This time from an unknown number:
Unknown:
We know you're close. Turn back now—or pay the price.
Jared showed the screen to Marcus, who grimaced. "They're taunting us again."
"Maybe they spotted Ava?" Jared wondered aloud, anxiety clawing at his stomach. Or worse—maybe someone recognized Marcus's car, or saw them skulking behind containers.
Marcus took a steadying breath. "No turning back now. Let's move."
Slipping into the darkness, they inched closer to the depot's east entrance, hearts thundering with the gravity of what lay ahead. The clang of distant metal echoed around the yard. A salty breeze rustled the chain-link fence. High overhead, the sky was a moonless void, as though the city itself was withholding its light.
This was it—the moment their plan transitioned from theory to action. Jared's muscles felt coiled, ready to spring. In a few short minutes, they'd be risking everything to reclaim the artifact, unearth the Syndicate's crimes, and salvage what remained of Jared's shattered future.
As he placed a hand on the cold steel of the depot's side door, the world seemed to hold its breath. Far inside, he sensed the shadows of a clandestine marketplace, criminals whispering of powerful relics, and the ghostly echo of the swirl symbol haunting every transaction.
They exchanged a final look of resolve. Then Jared eased the door open, slipping below the surface of Silvercoast's darkest dealings in a bid to expose truths that had long remained buried—and to take back the one thing that could finally set his life on a path toward justice.