sky in bruised purples and burnt oranges—the universal signal for the end of the shooting day. At the main gate of the film set, the air was thick with the smell of exhaust and the tension of an impending getaway.
With a roar of engines, three identical, pitch-black SUVs with reinforced glass tore out of the main entrance. They moved with the aggressive precision of a paramilitary unit, tires spitting gravel as they swerved onto the main highway.
Behind them, a silver sedan—Priscilla’s hired investigator—lurched into gear, the driver frantically speaking into a radio. "I have them. The convoy is moving north. They’re driving like they’re hiding the Crown Jewels. I’m in pursuit."
He didn't notice the dented, beige 2012 sedan that had quietly rolled out of a mud-slicked service exit five
