In a different part of town, things were far from peaceful. In a small, dark room, Mr. Jonathan was tied up, his hands bound tightly behind his back. He was screaming, his voice hoarse from shouting for help, but no one could hear him. He was far away, inside an old, abandoned factory.
Mr. Jonathan's mind raced with fear and confusion. How had he ended up here? Who had done this to him, and why? He strained against his bindings, the ropes cutting into his skin, but his efforts were useless. The factory was silent, except for the occasional drip of water from a rusty pipe. His situation seemed hopeless, and the despair in his eyes grew with each passing moment.
Back in Miguel's room, the night passed slowly. The first light of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow on the
