Meanwhile, in Mexico City.
Just after midnight on Saturday, around five o'clock.
In the main bedroom of Casare's residence, everything was tranquil; just the soft hum of the humidifier and the even breathing. For once, Casare wasn't woken up by urgent matters over the weekend, and he was deeply immersed in sleep.
But soon, the piercing, urgent ringtone of his phone on the bedside table rudely interrupted him.
Casare furrowed his brow, his eyelids struggled before he barely managed to open a slit. He reached for the phone, pressing the answer button without even looking, his voice heavy with sleep and annoyance at having been disturbed, "Hello? Who is this..."
On the other end, Victor's voice was like it had been scraped by sandpaper, dry and hoarse with a trace of uncontrollable trembling. He hastily said a few words.
Almost instantly, Casare shot up from the bed, suddenly wide awake, his eyes wide open, "What?! Say that again, dammit?!"
