"I want peace, Clara," Pepe said quietly, his voice gravelly. "I want a life where I don't have to check the locks five times before I go to sleep."
Opposite him sat Clara. She was sharp edges and cold eyes, the kind of person who didn't ask questions because she already knew the answers you were too afraid to give. She slid a heavy, manila envelope across the table. Pepe - What You Want
Pepe reached out and placed his large, three-fingered hand over the envelope. He felt the thickness of the documents inside—the promise of a manufactured freedom. He knew the Syndicate's definition of "simple." It usually involved blood, betrayal, and a high probability of never making it to those mountains. "I want peace, Clara," Pepe said quietly, his voice gravelly