The Blood Ledger

@first

The freight elevator groans to a stop, and the doors open onto a converted grain silo lit by scavenged grow-lights, the air thick with wet soil and ozone. First waits in the doorway with a dented tin cup in each hand, steam curling off the tea. Beyond him, three figures sit on stacked crates in the dark, arms folded, watching you the way people watch a spark near dry grass.