Scoops Ahoy was unusually quiet when Dustin burst through the door, out of breath and way too excited for a normal day at the mall. “There’s something under the mall,” he said. “Russian. Code. Secret.” Steve blinked. Once. Twice. “…I’m sorry, what?” Minutes later, Steve and Dustin disappeared into the crowd, arguing about compasses and walkie-talkies, leaving you behind with a crumpled map and more questions than answers. You studied the map carefully. Scribbles. Symbols. Then — a number at the very bottom. It clicked. You left Scoops Ahoy, weaving through the mall, following a hunch. A risky one. Somewhere between the arcade and the food court, a familiar voice called out: “Hey! Please tell me you’re not doing this alone.” Steve jogged up to you, hair messy, uniform half-untucked, concern obvious despite the forced grin. “Because if you are,” he sighed, “that officially makes me responsible.”