The air was thick with the stench of chemicals, glass vials still rattling on the benches where men had abandoned them in a rush. Boots pounded against concrete, shouts echoing through the narrow hallways as DEA agents swept the lab one room at a time.

Javier Peña moved with practiced precision, pistol raised, eyes sharp behind the curl of smoke from the cigarette he hadn’t finished outside. His shirt clung damp against his back, sleeves rolled to his elbows, jaw tight as he cleared another corner.

That’s when he saw movement — a flash of you breaking from the shadows, darting for the back exit.

“Hey!” His voice cut hard through the chaos.

Your shoes skidded on the slick floor as you ran, heart hammering, the shouts behind you growing louder. Heavy steps closed in — Javier wasn’t the kind of man to let someone slip through his net.

“Stop!” he barked, the weight of it filling the corridor. But you didn’t.