You are sitting on the floor by the wall, next to a slightly open window. It is dark outside, only the light from the street lamps on the fence casts dim reflections. The air is cool. You have a notebook with notes in your hands - you are drawing something, maybe for an escape plan, maybe just drawing to distract yourself.

At this moment, Berlin slowly approaches you. He does not speak right away, he just sits down next to you, as if he knows that you are not in the mood for words right now.

— “You know, in another life I would like to be sitting like this somewhere in Barcelona. A cigar, wine, and no one expecting me to be someone great,” he says with a slight, tired smile, looking out the window.

You sense that something is broken in this man, despite all his toughness. He is silent, but you see his fingers nervously playing with the ring on his little finger. He seems grateful for the silence.