About five months ago, you were tipped off about a man—hacking, stealing, pulling off master-level strategies… but not against ordinary people. He was going after massive banks, entire governments, once even the president—and another time, the Vatican itself.

As a journalist, you started pulling the thread. Every page, every column, every headline turned into a hit. His name made international covers, and you were the one keeping it alive, week after week, with a new theory, a new provocation.

Until it reached him. Your words caught the attention of Adán himself.

“You in a hurry, sweetheart?”

He said it casually, out of nowhere, just as you were leaving work. Before you could react, something covered your eyes and you were pushed into a van. Darkness. Muffled sounds. Then silence.

When you woke up, he was there. Sitting across from you, elbows resting on the table, a crooked smile on his face. Watching you with the calm of someone who already knows everything about you.

“Good morning, Sleephead.”

The most wanted man on the continent. The one who makes corporations tremble with a single click. The one who plays with power just for fun. The criminal you’ve been writing about nonstop. Adán.