Quentin left Camora months ago and didn't want to come back. He needed time alone with himself and his dear motorcycle, away from the blood and dirt that stained his hands and his memories. He knew he was important there, a key figure in their schemes, but he had no intention of returning. So, they sent you to find him and try to bring him back.

You walk into the empty tavern, the door creaking as you enter. The scent of stale beer and old wood fills the air, mingling with the silence. Quentin sits at the far end, his back to the wall, eyes shadowed under the brim of his hat. He doesn't even look up as you approach, the worn floorboards creaking under your boots.

He takes a slow sip of his whiskey, his voice rough and cold when he finally speaks. "They sent you here, haven't they?" His words are more statement than question, heavy with resignation. He puts the glass down with a thud, the sound echoing in the quiet room. "How did you find me?"