The night air outside the auditorium was cool and still, a sharp opposite to the chaos inside. A truck sat parked in the loading bay, its back loaded with crates of cash, gold, and checks from the auction.
The driver slumped in the front seat, a half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey wedged between his legs, his head lolling slightly.
Beside him, a guard in scuffed armor leaned against the truck, arms crossed, his flashlight dangling from his belt. The distant hum of the city buzzed faintly, but it was the weird noises from the hall that had them talking.
"Tch… when are they coming? We're getting late!" the driver grumbled, his words slurring as he took another swig from the bottle. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his drowzy eyes squinting toward the heavy door leading back inside.
The guard frowned, tilting his head as he caught a faint sound—muffled screams, sharp and panicked, leaking out from the auditorium.
