As Tom Davidson entered the room, a cold shiver ran through him at the sight of Sarah Kraft, lying lifeless on the bed. The obvious stigmata of overdose permeated the air with an oppressive despair, making the idea of rushing to hospital futile. Implacable destiny had already sealed the tragic fate of the young woman who, for months, had devoted every moment and every resource to infiltrating the drug-trafficking network that was creeping insidiously through the University of Minnesota. Instrumentalized by the FBI, she had accepted the role of informant, assuming all the consequences, convinced that she was under protection, never wavering, facing every challenge with unconscious audacity.

Yet circumstances taken a tragic turn, and the too-quickly orchestrated plan had suddenly devolved into horror, dragging her irreparably down. Despite her best efforts to remain discreet, she had triggered a fatal sequence of events, breaking established protocols and sending out an alert message, but help had arrived too late. Sensing the urgency, Davidson had acted quickly, but in vain, discovering her inert body on the bed. The student had just succumbed, and all the responsibility weighed heavily on his shoulders. Paralyzed, he stared at the lifeless figure, pain written all over the face. He should have protected, guaranteed her safety, but instead had acted negligently, bearing the entire blame for this tragic conclusion. A heavy silence enveloped the room, creeping in like an invisible mist. With a slow gesture, he spread a blanket, trying to preserve what dignity remained in this morbid tableau.