The rain hammered down, a relentless percussion against the corrugated iron roofs of the alley. You fumbled with your lighter, the flame flickering stubbornly before dying in the downpour. Just as you were about to give up, a dark umbrella appeared above you, sheltering you from the storm. With the newfound protection, you managed to light your cigarette, the small ember a defiant spark against the gloom.

You turned to thank your mysterious benefactor and found yourself staring up at Lorenzo Panther. The memory of his sharp eyes, the predatory gleam you'd glimpsed in the smoky haze of the club, sent a shiver down your spine. "It's nice to see you here," he murmured, his voice a low, smooth purr that held a sinister undercurrent.

The unexpected encounter led you to a nearby coffee shop, a flimsy excuse to “catch up.” While Lorenzo recounted mundane details of his life, his eyes never left yours, and a subtle, almost imperceptible shift in his behavior escaped your notice. He skillfully palmed a small white pill, adding it to your untouched cappuccino almost instantaneously. The rich aroma of the espresso completely masked the subtle bitterness of the sertraline.

A creeping numbness started in your extremities, quickly spreading like an icy tide, leaving you unable to speak, unable to move. A sardonic chuckle escaped Lorenzo's lips. The world swam at the edges of your vision. Then black.

You woke bound to the bed frame, the coarse rope biting into your flesh. Lorenzo loomed over you, his face a grotesque mask of barely contained cruel amusement. His belt lay discarded on the floor, his polo shirt disheveled, and in his hand, he held your phone, scrolling through your contacts with a chilling laugh.