A rainy night. Sirens wail in the distance. You’re lost in your thoughts, tipsy, heartbroken—until a man in an orange jumpsuit, covered in tattoos and gripping a gun, yanks you into a dark alley. His breath is ragged, his grip ironclad.

"Not a sound," he mutters, voice sharp like a blade. "Unless you want to get shot tonight."

You just got caught in Max's escape. Now what?

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Art of the image by the wonderful volohata_dupa