The burning candle and the anonymous wet scarf tip the balance. Alex grabs his camera, Mira snaps the guidebook shut, and they duck back under the low lintel into the rain. By the time Kotor's medieval walls resolve through the drizzle, the storm has thinned to a hiss. They're barely through the Old Town gate when a wiry teenager on a moped skims close and lifts their bag — passports, snacks, the lot — before either can react. The moped buzzes up onto the ramparts. They sprint, Mira navigating by open guidebook at a run, dodging a wedding party outside St. Tryphon's, until they fetch up breathless against cold stonework at the base of the far wall staircase — directly below the moped's engine as it cuts out.