Cook

Hazel ascended to the second floor, her expression neutral, betraying no hint of the pivotal mission she carried on her shoulders. Despite her seemingly nonchalant demeanor, the weight of her duty pressed on her, urging her to navigate the intricate web of information and secrets that surrounded Francisco.

As she strolled down the hallway, she approached Francisco's room, a calculated move that acknowledged the likelihood of being monitored. Hazel, aware of the surveillance apparatus that enveloped Francisco's world, maintained an air of casual observance.

Her footsteps echoed faintly in the corridor as she proceeded to her own room. Hazel, mindful of her surroundings, moved with deliberate precision. A minute passed, and she emerged from her room, a calculated maneuver intended to convey a sense of normalcy.

However, the path to Francisco's room proved inaccessible. The door remained locked, a testament to the fortress of privacy he maintained. Without Francisco's presence or the elu