Two days later.
9 PM.
Since the week began, the city had been quiet for the first time. The heavy rainfall a few hours ago had chased everyone inside, leaving the splashes of cars driving through puddles the only sounds the city could hear.
The night was tranquil and cold, water beads hanging off metal railings, and the streetlights appearing blurry on the wet tar.
The sky had turned deep navy, and the air smelled like earth. And from the view of a certain 310-meter 5-star hotel, the city was nothing more than squares of light. Each square could mean a family, a couple, or a workplace, where everyone was the main character of their own story.
This hotel was the same one Luca had booked for the length of his stay in Baku. Its name was Absherjan, and yes, it was no exaggeration, the hotel stood at a height of 310 meters, making it the tallest and the most prestigious in the country.
