The morning stank of salt and gasoline. The wind off the water carried the scent like a whisper, curling through the rusted skeletons of shipping containers and the splintered bones of forgotten pallets. Somewhere in the murk of the docks, a neon sign buzzed before it choked on itself and died beneath the rising sun.
And then, the fire.
It started as a flicker, a slow pulse like a dying heartbeat in the belly of the warehouse. But fire is never patient. It licked up the walls, greedy, splitting the morning open with veins of molten orange. Glass exploded. A door bulged outward like a great metal lung, breathing smoke that reeked of scorched wood, plastic, something worse.
The heat stung my eyes, made them water until the whole world blurred. The murmurs of the crowd tangled with the wail of sirens, voices hushed and urgent, pressing against me like the thick, acrid air.
Someone whispered but I couldn’t catch their words. Someone else swore under their breath.
Someone screamed my name…
And then, I woke up.
