The night swallowed them whole.

The convoy sped through narrow streets, headlights cutting sharp beams across the cracked pavement. The city was alive in the distance, neon, noise, laughter, but here, in the industrial outskirts, silence pressed heavily, broken only by the low growl of engines.

Mateo sat rigid in the front seat, hands locked around the rifle laid across his knees. His ribs still burned with every breath, but his face showed nothing. Beside him, Lorenzo sat with his wrists ...