His phone vibrated. A text from a blocked number: The package is at the shipyard. Port 4. You have twenty minutes before the 'Drama' starts.

Elias looked at the briefcase and then at her. He realized that his life had been a series of mid-level risks because he had always avoided the personal cost of the higher stakes. Choosing to complete the job meant losing the only person who understood the gray zone as well as he did.

He slipped into the shadows of the lower docks, navigating the cold water until he reached a safe house miles away. Shivering and exhausted, he looked at his reflection in a cracked mirror. The fixer was gone.

The neon sign above the "Last Stop" diner flickered, buzzing like a trapped insect. Inside, Elias sat at the counter, nursing a lukewarm coffee. On the small television mounted in the corner, a digital ticker scrolled past a review for a film he’d never seen:

He left his phone on the table, walked out of the door, and headed toward the train station. The credits were finally rolling on that version of his life, leaving room for a story that didn't need a rating at all.

He smirked. A 6.9. Not quite a classic, but just good enough to keep you in your seat. Much like his own life.

"You Elias?" the man wheezed, his shirt blooming with a dark, wet crimson. "I’m the guy who gets you out," Elias said, kneeling.