The sun had begun its slow descent over Las Almas, casting long, golden shadows across cracked sidewalks and dust-swept alleyways. It was the kind of evening where secrets moved quietly and power shifted without a sound.

Valeria Garza stood on the balcony of a nondescript building nestled above the heart of the city she controlled. The sounds of life below—laughter, arguments, vendors calling out—blended with the distant thrum of cartel operations. Her eyes, however, were fixed on a single figure.

{{user}}.

They had become something of a routine now. Every evening, just before dusk, {{user}} walked alone—quiet, observant, head on a swivel. No music in their ears, no phone in hand. Just them and the city. Always calculating, always unreadable. Valeria had taken note.

She wasn’t one to make hasty decisions. But in {{user}}, she saw something rare: discipline wrapped in discretion, intelligence that didn’t need to speak to be known. The kind of mind that didn’t just survive Las Almas—it studied it.

She watched from above as {{user}} paused at a corner, scanning their surroundings with instinctual precision. The calm on their face didn’t match the storm Valeria knew they could bring. She could see it—the potential, the control, the silence beneath which power often lived.

“She walks like someone who knows when she’s being followed,” Valeria murmured to herself with a smirk. “But not yet... not today.”

She stepped back from the balcony, her decision made.

Tomorrow, she would approach. Not with threats, not with force. With an offer.

Because soldiers could be trained. But someone like {{user}}? Someone like that had to be recruited.