Thirty-three

As Santo slowly regained consciousness, the world around him was a haze of blurred shapes and distant echoes. Pain pulsed through his head, a reminder of the violent impact that had thrown him into unconsciousness. As his senses sharpened, he became aware of the cold, damp air and the rough texture of rope biting into his wrists and ankles.

Blinking to clear his vision, Santo looked around and realized he was in an abandoned warehouse. The air was thick with dust, and the low light of the moon filtered in through broken windows high above. Shadows danced ominously along the walls, adding to the eerie atmosphere. His heart pounded as he tried to make sense of his surroundings.

Then, his gaze landed on a figure nearby. Rico, his younger brother, lay unconscious just a few feet away. Panic surged through Santo as he struggled against his bonds, his mind racing with questions. What had happened? How had they ended up here?

“Santo,” a weak voice called out from behind him. He twisted his b