Chapter 289 Burried In Wool?

Liam took over the wheel the moment they lost the cops. There was no negotiation, no debate — he just looked at Dickson and said, "Out."

Now, the car crawled slowly along a dusty stretch of road. No traffic. No pedestrians. Just an empty industrial zone filled with silence and faded warning signs.

Liam’s eyes narrowed as he spotted the place. A large fenced compound with razor wire coiled along the top like a snake waiting to strike. A few battered trucks sat idle outside, parked beside stacked crates and oil drums. The building itself looked like a forgotten factory — square, old, with rust crawling across its sides like mold. But Liam knew better. Factories didn’t hide in the shadows. This one reeked of secrets.

He killed the engine and let the silence settle.

Dickson looked out his window and blinked slowly. "Okay, what the hell is this? Some kind of abandoned military base?"

Liam shook his head. "Crimson Hand. Most likely one of their storage sites. They’ve been moving crates in and out since morning, and Vanessa thinks they might be carrying modified serums."

Dickson sat up straight, eyebrows raised. "Illegal stuff?"

Liam gave him a sharp look. "Extremely illegal. Highly dangerous. Potentially lethal."

Dickson grinned like he just got handed free tickets to an underground fight club. "Oh hell yeah, I’m coming."

Liam blinked. "Wait, what?"

"I said I’m coming with you," Dickson repeated, already unbuckling his seatbelt. "Come on, my life is way too boring lately. I need a little chaos."

"You need a psychiatrist," Liam muttered.

Dickson ignored him, leaning across the gearshift. "Think about it, bro. You’re the main character. I’m the funny best friend. We’re due for some badass co-op mission."

Liam stared at him like he just confessed to eating drywall.

"I’m serious," Dickson added. "Let me in. If I die, it’s on me."

Liam rubbed his temples, then glanced back at the compound. He didn’t like the idea of dragging Dickson into this, but the guy was stubborn and nosy enough to follow him anyway.

"Fine," Liam sighed, "but only on one condition."

Dickson lit up. "Yeah?"

"You stick to me. No wandering off. No doing dumb shit. You see me move, you move. You see me stop, you stop. Got it?"

Dickson saluted like a soldier. "Sir, yes sir. Sticking like glue, boss."

Liam gave him one last skeptical look before he opened the door and stepped out. The road was hot under his boots, the breeze carrying faint smells of fuel, sweat, and dust.

Dickson followed, humming some dramatic action-movie theme under his breath as he jogged after Liam. "So... how exactly are we supposed to get in there? Climb the fence? Cut it? You brought a grappling hook or something?"

Liam didn’t answer. He just reached out, grabbed Dickson by the collar and under the arm — then launched into the air with a single burst of his wings.

Dickson screamed like he was on a roller coaster. "HOLY SHI—!"

They soared upward, clearing the fence in a clean arc before landing silently on the other side. Liam touched down like it was nothing. Dickson stumbled, nearly faceplanting before catching himself on a barrel.

He spun around, eyes wide, and stared at Liam. "Bro. What the hell. That was... that was actually incredible."

Liam shrugged. "Just a little jump."

"You say that like we didn’t just fly"

"Keep your voice down," Liam muttered as he started moving toward the side of the building, sticking to the shadows.

Dickson jogged to catch up. "Okay okay okay, but real talk—how often do you do that? The flying thing. Do you like, practice in your backyard? Because it felt practiced. I felt like luggage."

Liam gave him a look. "You’re lucky I didn’t drop you mid-air."

"Please," Dickson smirked. "You’d never drop me."

Liam rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. He crouched low behind a metal container and scanned the area. The yard was quiet, but not deserted. Two men — both wearing dull grey jackets with no logos — stood near the side entrance, smoking and half-watching the surroundings. One of them was armed.

"They’ve got guards," Liam whispered.

"No problem," Dickson said.

"You can’t even tie your shoes without help," Liam hissed back. "You’re not handling anything."

Dickson gave a mock hurt expression. "Wow. You’ve changed. I remember when you used to believe in me."

Liam pointed to the guards. "You see those two?"

"Yup."

"I take them out silently. You stay behind this crate. If I wave, you come. If I yell, you run."

"Got it."

"And if you screw up, I’ll personally break your legs and leave you here."

Dickson nodded. "You’re such a good friend."

Liam sighed and crept toward the guards,

He moved quickly and low, eyes locked on the two guards by the entrance. One of them flicked his half-burnt cigarette to the side when he heard approaching footsteps. He straightened up and squinted through the dim light. His brows furrowed when he saw Liam casually walking toward him.

"Hey!" the guard barked, voice thick with suspicion. "How the hell did you get in here?"

He didn’t get a reply.

He didn’t get a second chance, either.

Liam reached him in the next second, spinning sharply on his left foot. His right leg came around with power, slamming into the man’s shoulder. The impact was brutal — clean, fast, and final. The man dropped instantly, crumpling to the floor without even making a proper sound.

The second guard had a pistol halfway raised, panic flooding his face. But Liam didn’t slow. He pushed off the ground, lifted into the air with a sharp burst of strength, and twisted mid-air. His foot smashed against the guard’s wrist, sending the pistol flying across the yard.

Before the man could yell, Liam struck again — this time an open palm to the side of the neck, hitting a nerve point hard. The guard’s body locked up, then went limp, falling to the ground with a thud beside his partner.

Liam took a breath, scanning the yard again. Silent.

No alarms.

No shouting.

Just him and two unconscious bodies.

He didn’t want bloodshed. Not this morning. If he could keep it clean, he would.

He looked toward the container where he told Dickson to stay hidden.

And for once... Dickson had followed instructions. His head slowly peeked out from behind the metal crate, eyes wide in disbelief. He was crouched low like a spy, lips pursed in awe. When Liam waved him over, Dickson nodded like he’d just been called onto the battlefield and scrambled to his feet, jogging over with his head down like it made him invisible.

"Dude," Dickson whispered loudly, "that was like something out of a damn movie."

"Quiet," Liam said, already turning toward the building.

They stepped over the two unconscious men and slipped inside.

What they found wasn’t what either of them expected.

The hallway was narrow at first, made of old cement with exposed wires running along the ceiling. But then it opened up... into a massive hall. The kind of space that could fit a plane hangar inside. The ceilings were high, the walls were stained, and the entire place smelled like dust and rusted metal.

And it was empty.

No guards. No movement. No voices.

Just crates.

Endless crates.

Stacked in towering rows from one end of the building to the other.

Dickson blinked, taking a few hesitant steps forward. "This... this doesn’t look like a drug den."

Liam didn’t answer. His eyes were scanning everything — the floor, the ceiling, the crates themselves. They were standard industrial containers, nailed shut, nothing particularly suspicious about them on the outside.

He stepped toward the first one by his left and gripped the lid. With a small push of strength, he popped it open and peered inside.

And what he saw made his entire face twist with confusion.

Clothes.

Nothing but stacks and stacks of white wool fabric — neatly folded, untouched.

Dickson leaned in beside him. "Is that... laundry?"

Liam didn’t respond at first. He ran his fingers through the wool, confirming it wasn’t some trick. No wires. No hidden devices. Just... cloth.

He looked around again.

The crates went on for what felt like hundreds of feet in every direction. All marked the same. No labels. No dates. No serial numbers.

"What the hell is this place?" Liam muttered.

Dickson walked over to another crate and tried to pry it open himself. "So... either Vanessa got the wrong place, or the Crimson Hand opened a boutique."

Liam didn’t smile. "No. Something’s off."

"Could be a front," Dickson offered. "Like, hide the drugs behind a pile of wool. Or maybe they’re shipping the drugs inside the clothes. Like in the seams or something."

Liam stepped back and eyed the room again. There had to be more. Something deeper. A secret compartment. Another section of the warehouse. Something they weren’t seeing yet.

He closed the crate he opened and looked toward the far end of the hall. There was a hallway there, partially blocked by two more crates.

Dickson followed his gaze. "You thinking what I’m thinking?"

Liam gave a small nod. "Let’s check the back. Stay close."