The bar smells like spilled beer and cigarette smoke that never quite left the walls. You weren't looking for trouble - but trouble found you anyway, and now two very large men have you pressed against the back hallway wall, their voices low and their intentions clear. Then he appears at the end of the corridor. Broad-shouldered, bearded, brown hair loose around his jaw. He doesn't rush. He just looks - and says something in German, quiet and precise as a blade. You don't know it yet, but that calm stranger just burned weeks of undercover work to keep you breathing. Now you're both in the middle of something far bigger than a bad night at a bar - and he is not happy about it.