A door opened. A woman stepped out, wrapped in a long raincoat, her dark hair plastered to her head. She didn’t walk with confidence; she moved with the frantic urgency of someone who feared being seen. Pressed against her chest, she carried a bundle wrapped in fabric.
A chill ran down Dana’s spine that had nothing to do with the cold. The woman glanced around nervously, then stopped beside a gap between piles of industrial waste. She looked down at the bundle, hesitated, and whispered something the wind swallowed whole.
Then, as if it burned her hands, she let it go.
The bundle fell among the black trash bags. The woman quickly piled smaller bags on top, dragged a soaked cardboard box over it, and ran back to the car. The engine roared, tires splashed through the mud, and she was gone—leaving behind only the rain and the silence.
Dana didn’t move at first. She counted her heartbeats. Fear fought curiosity. What could be so terrible that someone would throw it away in the dead of night? Money? Stolen goods? If it was valuable, it could mean food. Warmth. Maybe even a chance.