Max Hartwell's head throbbed as he navigated the labyrinth of back alleys, every step a reminder of the narrow escape from Russo's hit squad. Blood trickled from the wound on his arm, staining his shirt a dark crimson. He kept moving, fueled by adrenaline and sheer will. Violet and Jessica trailed close behind, their faces etched with the same determination that drove him.
The safe house they found was a decrepit warehouse, long abandoned and perfect for lying low. Max pushed open the rusted door, scanning the shadows for any threats before ushering the women inside.
"We don't have much time," Jessica said, her voice tight with urgency. "Once Russo knows we survived, he'll throw everything at us."
Max nodded, pressing a cloth to his wound to staunch the bleeding. "We need to get this story out now. The evidence has to be public, and we need to be out of reach before Russo's next wave hits."
