He smelled of diesel and salt, a sharp tang that turned Liam’s stomach. The man leaned close for a moment, studying him, then sneered and moved on without a word. Ethan didn’t move. He kept his hands visible, his voice steady. “No one needs to get hurt,” he said carefully. “Take what you want and go.”
The leader’s eyes flicked toward the crates, then back to Ethan. The corners of his mouth curled in a faint smile, as if to say: we already know what we’re here for. Liam’s pulse quickened. He wished Ethan hadn’t spoken at all. Every sound felt like it might spark something worse.