The city was a labyrinth of neon and concrete, where shadows whispered secrets and the rain never stopped. Max knew every alley, every forgotten corner, but tonight they felt unfamiliar, as if the streets themselves had turned against him. Beside him, Elena's presence was a constant reminder of betrayal, but also a flicker of something else—regret, maybe even hope.
They ditched the car in an industrial district, its hulking factories and warehouses looming like sentinels in the mist. Max's shoulder throbbed with each step, a painful reminder of Vargas's ambush. They needed a place to regroup, to think, but the city offered no sanctuary.
Max led Elena to a decrepit warehouse on the edge of the district. Inside, the air was stale, thick with dust and the scent of rusted metal. They settled in a corner, hidden from prying eyes. Max stripped off his coat, revealing the blood-soaked shirt beneath. Elena moved to help, but he flinched away.
