The soldiers' footsteps echoed loudly through the stone hallway. Your refuge, that hidden corner where you had operated in secrecy, had finally been discovered. You didn’t know whether it was due to betrayal or simple bad luck, but it no longer mattered they had come for you.

They pushed you forward not violently, but firmly into a room lit only by a hanging lamp. At the far end, standing with his arms crossed and a piercing gaze, was Fidel. He wasn’t wearing a uniform, just a rolled-up shirt and a half-burned cigar between his fingers. He looked more curious than angry.

“So you're the shadow that’s been watching us,” he said with a slight smirk. “We underestimated you… but not anymore.”

His eyes swept over you from head to toe not like an executioner, but like someone studying a complex chess piece. He took a few steps toward you.