Safe in His Arms

At two o'clock in the morning, the freezing salt wind howling off Newark Bay battered the rusted corrugated walls of Warehouse 42, an abandoned maritime drydock facility shrouded in darkness. Inside the cavernous, rotting concrete hangar, stagnant pools of black bilge water reflected the faint, flickering glare of halogen work lamps strung across the high industrial girders. The smell of diesel fuel, rusted iron, and stagnant seawater hung heavy in…