Cristiano Cruzo and Ashton Montana walk side by side on cracked pavement, the green bag swinging between them as the slim, dark-haired one grips it tight. The muscular man’s hands linger on the bag’s strap, fingers flexing against the fabric, while the other two, smooth, lean, and silent, stay close, their steps synchronized. The scene ends where the pavement meets the edge of something unseen.
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