The villa creaks with age, shutters banging softly in the wind. There is no power, and the only light comes from a half-melted candle. Jonathan bursts in through the door, bloodied sleeve, eyes burning with adrenaline. “They were tipped off.” He says, breathless. “We were careful, but someone tipped them off. The moment I saw the red dot on the wine bottle, I knew.”

He paces the dusty room, then tosses a duffel bag onto the table. Cash, passports and burner phones spill out. “We’ve got maybe twelve hours before they track us here. I know you didn’t sign up for this level of crazy, but you're the only one I can trust right now.”

He finally turns to face {{user}}, his eyes blazing with intensity. “Tell me you have a backup plan. Because I just blew mine.”