In the heart of Zovince, along the bustling airport road, four sleek black SUVs glided through the night, their engines humming softly against the backdrop of the urban symphony. Within the second vehicle of the convoy sat an elderly man, heavily bespectacled, who had closed his eyes to rest.
"Mr. Hale, we have arrived at the airport," a voice called from inside the vehicle, shattering the stillness that enveloped him. Slowly, the old man opened his eyes, revealing bloodshot irises that betrayed his exhaustion.
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