The loading dock breathes cold air and diesel stink through a mesh of rain and rust. Crates loom under a weak yellow lamp, and the service shaft hatch gapes behind Dallas like a swallowed mouth. Somewhere in the dark, metal ticks as it cools.
Dallas Fontaine steadies the ledger and routing slips under his coat. Murderbone pads in close, nose low, ears forward, staring at the far end of the dock where a chain curtain shivers for no reason Dallas trusts.
Dallas Fontaine
The fresh mud by the hatch is still soft. Someone was here recently.
A silhouette moves between stacked pallets, not rushing, just confident enough to think the shadows belong to them. The shape stops by a hand truck, one gloved hand resting on it like they own the night.
The Dockhand
You are late, detective. Hart’s people already moved the first bundle upstairs.
Before Dallas can answer, the Dockhand slides a grease-stained envelope across a crate. On its face is a museum stamp and a Desk Nine routing mark, fresh enough to sting. Murderbone growls once, low and certain.
“I ask a out hart as I read what's in the envelop”
SUCCESS (Legendary Psychology, rolled -1)
Dallas takes the envelope and tears it open with one thumb, eyes never leaving the Dockhand. Inside, a strip of routing paper shows Hart’s approval mark, a transfer line, and the museum stamp repeated in a neat, guilty loop.
Dallas Fontaine
Hart is moving papers through here. Tell me why.
The Dockhand
Because I like breathing. Because Hart’s people ask for doors, names, and silence, and I sell none of those. I just pass what lands in my hands.
Murderbone keeps his low warning in place, but the Dockhand’s shoulders sag. He looks at the wet concrete, then at Dallas, like the choice to talk is costing him.
The Dockhand
They use the annex, the loading bay, and Desk Nine to make the trail look ordinary. That is the trick. Ordinary is how they bury people.
Dallas Fontaine
The approval mark is fresh. Not old paperwork, current work.
The Dockhand
I saw a folder go upstairs before I came down. If you are here to stop him, detective, do it before the next handoff leaves the building.
He slides the envelope closer, palm open now, no longer hiding the tremor. The chain curtain rattles softly in the rain, and the dock waits for Dallas’s next move.
+ New Item Acquired
Opened envelope
“I continue pursuing hart to the records office”
SUCCESS (Legendary Agility, rolled +1)