The sun had barely begun to dip behind a veil of gray clouds when Libel reached the abandoned warehouse. The place reeked of rust and rancid oil, a stench that clung to the nostrils. The corrugated metal walls, once painted industrial gray, were now streaked with rust and half-faded graffiti. Broken windows let in a pallid light, casting jagged shadows across the debris-littered floor—splintered crates, twisted pipes, and a few old punctured tires abandoned in a corner.
Libel hadn't bothered to sneak in—what was the point? She could already hear their rough voices echoing inside: laughter laced with curses and the metallic clatter of weapons being handled carelessly.
