Rain hammered the metal roof, each drop a tiny heartbeat in the darkness. The streetlight outside flickered once … twice … then died, leaving the alley in the shadows. I crouched lower behind the stack of crates, my breath fogging in the cold night air.
Through the blur of rain, I spotted him. A tall, trench coat collar flipped up, a black briefcase dangling casually from his hand. Too casually. The kind of casual that screamed don’t look at me.
I tapped my earpiece. “Target in sight. Moving toward the docks.”
Static crackled, then Agent Claire’s voice slipped through. “Copy. Remember, Bella– our only lead is in that briefcase. Don’t lose him.”
I kept my steps light, my sneakers barely whispering against the wet pavement. Every few seconds, the man glanced over his shoulder. Once his eyes met mine through the fog. My heart dropped. I ducked into a doorway, pretending to fiddle with my phone until he turned back.
We reached Pier Nine. The smell of saltwater and rusted metal hit me hard, mixing with the sharp tang of gasoline from the fishing boats, and gosh, did it smell fishy. He slowed, scanning the area like he could smell my presence.
A dog barked somewhere behind me, making my hand twitch in my pocket where my tennis ball was. How’d it get here?! Never mind that—focus, Bella!
The man stopped near a shipping container and placed the briefcase on the ground. I squinted. He pulled something small and silver from his coat pocket—a key. Not just any key. I recognized its jagged edges and odd, star-shaped bow from the briefing file. It was the Haven key. It was supposed to open a vault hidden beneath the old city bank. A vault no one had seen in fifty years.
I took a slow step forward, keeping low. Rainwater soaked through my hoodie, but I didn’t care. My heart pounded so loudly. I was sure he could hear it.
“Freeze!”
A voice exploded from the darkness. Not Claire’s voice. This one was sharper and urgent. A flashlight beam sliced through the rain, landing on the man.
In a blink, he snatched the briefcase and bolted. My legs reacted before my brain did. I sprinted after him, water splashing up my legs, and my lungs burning with each gulp of air.
The dock planks groaned under our weight. He was fast, but I was faster. When I was inches from his back, I lunged—fingers brushing the slick leather handle.
He twisted suddenly, his elbow swinging into my ribs. Pain shot through my side, but I clung on. The case wrenched free from his grip, my sneakers skidding across the wet boards.
Then chaos. The flashlight man shouted. Footsteps pounded from the other side of the dock. Somewhere behind me, Claire’s voice barked orders through my earpiece.
I clutched the case to my chest and ran.
By the time I reached the alley where I’d started, my muscles shook, and my breath came in heavy bursts. Sirens wailed in the distance. I ducked into a side door, slammed it shut, and flicked on my flashlight.
The case clicked open.
Inside was nothing but a single scrap of paper.
Four words, written in messy ink: You’re already too late.
