A man in his mid-thirties entered the bar with a heavy gait, a pistol glinting at his side. He was twenty years older than the girl, and his name inspired fear. He came for the money that night, as he always did. But his gaze suddenly fell on a young girl who had just arrived, a stranger among the locals. Without hesitation, he grabbed her right in front of her friends, pulled her out of the crowd, and walked away. He pushed her into his old, gloomy basement—the cold stone walls had kept his secrets for many years. The girl stood in the semi-darkness, scared and lost. He looked at her with cold attention, as if assessing a treasure. "You're a long way from home," he said low. "And now you're in my hands." Not a step back, not an attempt to escape. But you know, it all depends on you. He silently retreated into the shadows, leaving the door ajar and the silence filled with tension.