"Salazar." Scarlet whispered the name like a prayer to a god that had already abandoned him.
He stood there, blinking, waiting for the hallucination to dissolve, but the reality was too jagged to be a dream. There was that certain kind of unduplicatable hardness, a stone-cold structural rigidity, that only birthed from Miguel's face. And beside him, the unwarranted, cheerful grin from his partner, Navarro, was a neon sign flashing his impending doom. It was too undeniable to be fake.
The realization dawned on Scarlet with the weight of a falling guillotine: he was face to face with his disastrous end. He didn't wait another fleeting second.
He lunged toward the small drawers behind the bed with a frantic,animalistic frenzy, hands scrambling through the contents until they closed around the cold weight of a pistol. He cocked it immediately, the metallic clack-clack echoing sharply in the confined space.
