The cat and the mouse

The escaped assassin pressed through the narrow caverns that twisted beneath the mountain’s bones. His every step was echoing like a ghost fleeing the grave. His breath was ragged, not from fear but from urgency as the weight of the message clutched tightly in his mind.

A soft flicker of torchlight glimmered up ahead, signaling the mouth of the resistance stronghold hidden deep within the Earth’s veins.

He stepped into the chamber, where weathered faces turned toward him, men and women cloaked in old uniforms bearing the symbol of the Jingle Nation, a once-proud emblem now worn in secrecy. The room quieted as he entered, and the murmurs of hopelessness that often lingered in the corners of this underground haven faded.

"He lives," the assassin said simply, his voice cracking but steady.

A gasp broke through the group. The rebel leader, a scarred woman named Commander Maera, stepped forward. "Who lives? Speak."