The rain fell in sheets, drumming against the pavement like the frantic beating of a heart. In the narrow alleyway, the darkness was suffocating, broken only by the occasional flicker of a distant streetlight. Elena Morales pulled her coat tighter around herself, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts as she ducked into the shadows. She had never felt so exposed.

Somewhere behind her, she could hear footsteps—measured, deliberate, steadily drawing closer. They had found her.

Her father's voice echoed in her mind, a memory that had haunted her for years. "There are some truths, Elena, that people will kill to keep buried." He had been right. She had spent most of her life trying to uncover those truths, chasing down whispers and fragments of evidence that had led her deeper into the labyrinth of lies and corruption—the same labyrinth that had swallowed him whole.

Elena's fingers tightened around the small black notebook in her pocket. It was all she had left of him. His unfinished work. His legacy. And now, it was her only weapon.

She pressed herself against the cold, damp brick wall, her pulse racing as the footsteps grew louder. They were closing in. She had spent years tracking The Black Hand, unravelling their network piece by piece, exposing their influence, their crimes. And now, they were coming for her, just as they had come for him.