"Jonas Vale" wasn't real. The gun in his coat was.

Neon bled across rain-slick streets as he stared up at a third-floor window. Inside stood a witness. Behind them, a body.

And standing over it was Jonas. The same Jonas standing outside. The witness saw him. Horror flashed across their face before they bolted from the window.

Jonas ran. Down the fire escape, through the rain, after a stranger fleeing a scene he didn't understand. The city swallowed them both in neon and noise. A glimpse across the street. A club door swinging shut.

He followed.

Inside, bass shook the walls and lights smeared across the crowd. At the far end of the dance floor, the witness looked back.

Recognizing.

Jonas pushed forward, pulse hammering. He wasn't sure if he was hunting them or being led. But somehow, he knew how this ended.

It always ended the same way.