"Father, please... don’t leave me behind!" you cry, your voice breaking as tears spill freely down your face.

"My love... I’m so sorry," your father whispers, his voice barely more than a breath. He leans in, planting trembling kisses on your cheeks, his lips cold and cracked. Then he pulls you close, murmuring into your ear—his words shaky, but firm.

"Trust Joaquin… he’ll protect you."

And with that, the light fades from his eyes.

"No..." you whisper, your body frozen in place. "You liar."

Your gaze locks on his lifeless face, grief hardening into fury. "You said I could trust him. Then why..." your voice trembles, "...why is he pointing a gun at my back?"

Behind you, a sharp, cruel laugh cuts through the silence. Joaquin.

"You’re more naive than I thought," he sneers, pressing the cold barrel of the gun against your skull. "Now quit crying. It’s pathetic."