Santiago stood on the private verandah of his hotel suite, the cool night breeze brushing against his face but offering no relief from the storm raging inside his mind.
The city lights stretched out below like scattered diamonds, beautiful yet indifferent. His hands gripped the railing tightly, knuckles white, as memories flooded him without mercy.
Leon's screams echoed in his head — raw, terrified, desperate. "Help me! Sylvain! Please!" The image of the boy being dragged into the van, kicking and crying, refused to leave him. Santiago closed his eyes, jaw clenched so hard it ached.
"What have I done?" he whispered to the empty night. "He trusted me. He was innocent… and I helped them take him. All for this mission. All for…"
