WASTED 1.2

The street was dimly lit, the glow of flickering street lamps casting long, eerie shadows across the cracked pavement. Ayan stood alone on the sidewalk, his eyes fixed on the grand hotel entrance. The air was thick with tension, the distant hum of traffic barely audible over the drumming of his heartbeat.

From the hotel doors, Laxmi emerged, his sharp, tailored suit almost blending into the night, his expression cold and unreadable. As he moved, the light briefly illuminated his face, revealing the hardened lines of a man burdened by secrets too dark to be spoken aloud. Ayan stepped forward, determination etched across his face.

AYAN (walking quickly toward him, voice steady but urgent) We need to talk, Mr. Laxmi.