Inside, the room was dark, curtains drawn tightly shut. A figure lay sprawled on the bed, oblivious to the intruder in his domain. Morales took a cautious step forward, his eyes adjusting to the gloom. He could see the man now—a disheveled, gaunt figure with unkempt hair and sallow skin. Bottles of alcohol littered the nightstand, their contents long consumed.

“Sir,” Morales called out, his voice firm yet controlled. “I’m with the police. I need you to wake up.”

The man stirred, groaning as he turned over. His eyes blinked open, unfocused and bleary. “What the hell…?” he mumbled, trying to sit up.