Page 150 of Mercy Written in Blood

Ken collected his coat.

"It never is."

Haruki ignored him. At 6:43, they left through the service entrance.

The eastern freight district had been dying for twenty years. Once, cargo trains crossed it day and night, carrying machine parts, timber and imported grain towards the industrial centre. Now most of the tracks had rusted beneath weeds. Warehouses stood in rows of corrugated steel and cracked concrete, their company names bleached by weather. Developers had purchased sections of the riverfront — luxury apartments would come eventually, restaurants, glass towers, promises that the district had been reborn rather than replaced. For now, it belonged to stray cats, scrap dealers and men who preferred buildings without cameras.

Daisuke drove. He had been with the Ishida Family for sixteen years and spoke only when silence became impractical. His shoulders filled the front seat of the van. A pistol rested beneath his coat.

Ken sat beside him with the route open on a tablet. Haruki and Reina occupied the rear. No one had asked Haruki why he was wearing body armour beneath his shirt. That was progress.

"The warehouse is two streets ahead," Ken said.

"Movement?"

"Nothing on traffic cameras."

"Private security?"

"The entire district lost service forty minutes ago."

Reina looked up.

"All of it?"

"Six blocks."

Haruki watched the shuttered buildings pass beyond the window.

"Convenient."

"Power company lists emergency maintenance."

"At this hour?"

Ken glanced back.

"The notice was filed twelve minutes after we received the address."

Haruki felt something cold settle beneath his ribs. Not fear yet. Recognition of design.

"They know we're coming," Reina said.

"Yes."

Daisuke slowed before the next turn.

"Continue?" he asked.

Haruki looked towards the side mirror. A dark sedan had followed them from the river crossing, never close enough to appear obvious. Accord. They were not hiding particularly well.

"Continue," Haruki said.

The sedan remained behind them.

Warehouse Nine stood at the end of a narrow access road between two larger storage buildings. The photograph had been recent — the same peeling blue number marked the door, the same rust stained the frame. But something had changed. Haruki saw it before the van stopped. The padlock hung open. Not broken. Open.

Daisuke parked twenty metres away.