Alex stood in the labyrinthine guts of Raval, somewhere between Carrer de les Sitges and the ghost of a street erased by redevelopment in 1997. No signage. Just damp cobblestones, blackened with time.
His phone vibrated. One message. No number.
“You’re walking into your own echo. Keep going.”
He looked up. There was no obvious source. The alley narrowed. A…
