Chapter 1811

They walked a few hundred feet deeper into the industrial zone before Clinton finally stopped in front of a rusted iron gate with a sign that read, No. 25 Maple Hollow. He flicked the burned-out cigarette from his mouth, pulled out another, and stuck it between his lips with calm swagger. Without hesitation, he strolled up to the heavy gate. The steel door was thick—clearly welded from reinforced plates nearly an inch thick. It had not been painted, just raw metal with a rough finish. Nonetheless, it gave off one very clear message—whoever was inside took security very seriously. Clinton casually raised a hand and knocked—three sharp thuds that echoed off the metal. Then, silence. He stood there with a cigarette dangling from his mouth and a confident smirk, like everything was going according to plan. However, Matthew felt tension climbing up his spine. Something about this felt too easy. Beside him, Tommy's eyes lit up with an odd excitement, the kind thrill-seekers get when th