Making Past Perfect
Suddenly, a piercing scream cut through the stillness of the night.
Captain Juan and his men rushed toward the isolated cage where they had been holding Ichiro. When they arrived, they found him lying on the ground, his eyes wide open, staring blankly at the sky. His throat had been slit, blood pooling around his body.
Juan knelt beside him, his pulse quickening. He hadn’t given the order for Ichiro’s execution yet. Someone had taken matters into their own hands.
Roberto, standing nearby, scanned the area, his hand instinctively reaching for his weapon. “Whoever did this… they’re still here,” he muttered, his eyes narrowing as he peered into the surrounding darkness.
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