[Jake's POV]
The air in Macau didn't just surround you; it swallowed you whole.
Stepping out of the claustrophobic, mildew-scented stairwell of our safehouse and into the neon-drenched alleyway felt like walking into the lungs of a massive, sweating beast. The humidity was absolute, a physical weight that pressed against my shoulders and instantly plastered my cheap cotton shirt to my spine.
Above us, the narrow strip of visible sky was choked with a chaotic tangle of power lines, rusted air conditioning units, and massive, flickering neon signs that bled harsh red and sickly yellow light onto the wet pavement. The smell was a dizzying, nauseating mix of roasted pork from a nearby street vendor, the sharp tang of exhaust fumes, and the underlying rot of open sewage drains.
