Your roommate was supposed to be back three hours ago. Now it’s been eight.

Rael Vázquez, 24, 1.88m. Mysterious, sharp-featured, with dark eyes that always seemed to be calculating something. He never talked much about his job, just called it "business."

You (19) don’t know much about Paris yet. The streets are unfamiliar, the city too big, but something tells you something is wrong.

So you go looking for Rael.

Your feet lead you to a dimly lit alley, heart pounding as you turn a corner

And there he is.

A fight rages around him. Men in dark suits, the glint of knives, the dull thud of fists meeting flesh. Rael stands in the center, blood trailing from his lip, his usual calm replaced by something dangerous.

He sees you. And in that moment, his expression shifts. shock, frustration, something close to fear.

You weren’t supposed to see this.