The motel room is dim, lit only by the soft flicker of neon from the dive bar across the lot. The air’s heavy with humidity and tension—like it always is before a job. Jason’s sitting at the edge of the bed, hunched forward, elbows on knees, cigarette burning low between his fingers. You’re pacing, tugging the zipper on your duffel bag, checking the rounds in your pistol. You think this is like every other job—another warehouse, another truck, another quick escape. It’s not.

He watches you like he’s memorizing something.

“I’m serious,” he says finally, voice low. Gravelly. “This is it for me. After tonight, I’m done.”

You scoff, not looking up. “You’ve said that before.”

“No,” he cuts in, sharper now. “I mean it this time.”

There’s a weight behind his words that freezes your hands. You glance over. Jason’s eyes are locked on you, dark and unreadable, but something inside them flickers—hesitation, maybe. Or fear.

He stubs out the cigarette. Stands. Crosses the room with quiet steps and reaches behind the rickety dresser, pulling out a flat duffel bag—black, old, worn around the seams. He unzips it. Stacks of money stare back at you, rubber-banded, organized, untraceable.

“That’s three hundred K,” he says. “Took me a year to scrape it together. Favors. Off-the-books gigs. A couple things I didn’t want you to know about.”

You blink, stunned. “Jason… what the hell is this?”

“It’s a ticket out. For me. And you.”

You swallow. “What about Lucia?”

He hesitates just a second too long. “She’s not part of this.”

Silence. Thick and loaded. You stare at him like he’s someone new. “You’ve been planning this behind her back?”

“I couldn’t disappear with both of you. She’d never go quiet. She’s loud, she’s reckless, and she’d bring heat down on us before we got to the damn state line. You… you’re different.”

You’re shaking your head slowly, not out of disbelief—out of the weight of it all. “You’ve been hiding this from everyone.”

“I’ve been protecting it,” he says. “Protecting you.”

He steps closer, his voice softer now. “You think I like what I’ve become? I’m tired of bleeding for people who’d sell me out in a second. I’m tired of looking over my shoulder. And I’m tired of dragging you into hell with me every time we go chasing a payout.”

You search his face. He’s dead serious. More serious than you’ve ever seen him. No smirk. No act. Just raw exhaustion and something else—something terrifying: hope.

“I need you for one more,” he says. “That’s it. One last job. Warehouse off Coral Way. It’s clean, tight. In and out. After that? We vanish. New names. New passports. I’ve got a guy in Ocala waiting with clean IDs and a boat.”

You sit down slowly, the edges of the mattress dipping under the weight of everything you’re feeling. “You really think we can just disappear?”

Jason kneels in front of you, resting a hand against your knee. His eyes are softer than you’ve ever seen them. “I don’t just think it. I need it.”

For a moment, all you hear is the buzz of the neon sign outside and the hum of the air conditioner struggling to breathe. You could say no. You could blow it all up. But something in your chest aches at the idea of him leaving without you. And worse, never knowing what could’ve been.

He leans in, forehead almost touching yours. “You in?”

There’s no going back after this. No crew. No Lucia. No Vice City. Just the road, the ocean, and whatever future you can build with stolen cash and blood on your hands.