Chapter 167 Into The Mess

• The narrow alley in the heart of the crumbling Montenegrin neighbourhood was cloaked in shadows, the kind that seem to cling to the walls like old secrets. Cracked cobblestones crunch softly beneath the slow, deliberate tires of a fleet of large black cars, their engines barely above a purr. The lead vehicle—a matte SUV with tinted windows and the dull gleam of armoured plating—moved like a predator, silent and menacing.
• Behind it, more cars followed in a tight formation, their headlights switched off, guided only by slivers of moonlight and the flickering glow of distant neon signs. The air smelled faintly of damp stone and old oil. From shuttered windows above, no faces were visible, but the atmosphere hummed with tension, as if the entire neighbourhood was holding its breath.
• At the far end of the alley loomed the rundown hotel, its façade crumbling and graffiti-tagged, the letters on its rusted sign barely legible. A single bulb flickered above the entrance, casting a jaundiced light on the stained doorway. Curtains fluttered nervously in a second-floor window.