The Buried Lie

Vittoria

The warehouse smelled of gun oil and metal, sharp, sterile, and grounding. I stood by the table, watching my men unload the latest shipment of modified pistols and custom rifles, each one gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights, the black steel catching reflections of movement. My mind wasn't here, though. Not really.

Zev stood beside me, clipboard in hand, running inventory in his us