CHAPTER THREE HUNDRED AND EIGHTY EIGHT – THE GOOD BARISTA

Two men in dark suits stood on the corner, their postures rigid and alert. Even from a distance, Jasmine recognized the telltale earpieces and the subtle bulge of concealed weapons. Collins' men. Time seemed to slow as one of the men turned, his gaze sweeping the street. Jasmine's breath caught in her throat. She forced herself to move casually, ducking her head and pulling her cap lower over her eyes. Just a few more steps. Just act normal. The man's eyes passed over her, then snapped back. Jasmine saw the moment of recognition dawn on his face. "Hey!" he called out, already reaching for his weapon. Panic surged through Jasmine's veins. Without thinking, she bolted, sprinting towards the nearest alley. "Stop! Police!" The shout echoed off the buildings, followed by the pounding of footsteps. Jasmine's lungs burned as she ran, weaving through the narrow alleyway. She knocked over a stack of empty crates, hoping to slow her pursuers. The alley opened onto a busier street. Jasmin