The first hints of dawn crept through the city, casting the urban jungle in a grim light. The buildings loomed like silent sentinels, their shadows stretching long and menacing across the deserted streets. Max stood at the window of the safe house, the cold morning light seeping through the grime-covered glass, painting the room in shades of grey. His eyes were hard, scanning the cityscape with a mixture of determination and weariness.
Rachel was in the kitchen, pouring coffee into cracked mugs. The aroma, rich and bitter, was a small comfort amidst the chaos that had become their lives. Evelyn sat at the table, methodically cleaning her gun. Her movements were precise, almost ritualistic, each click of metal against metal a reminder of the violence that loomed on the horizon.
Max turned from the window, his voice a low, gravelly murmur. "We need to move fast. Moretti's not going to sit idle. He'll come for us with everything he's got."
