{"type":"location","location":{"title":"Your Office - Calle Florida, Centro","description":"The afternoon light filters through half-closed venetian blinds, casting long shadows across your modest desk. You are in your small law office on Calle Florida, in the heart of Buenos Aires. The walls are lined with legal books, their spines cracked from use. Your secretary's desk in the outer room is empty—it's nearly 6 PM, and she left hours ago.\n\nOn your desk sits a manila folder, worn at the edges. Inside is the document the grieving mother, Señora Carmen Pérez, handed to you this morning, along with her son's photograph. The document is typewritten on what appears to be military letterhead, dated three weeks ago. The words are clinical, bureaucratic—and deeply disturbing. References to 'genetic reassignment protocols,' 'suitable families,' and 'permanent confidentiality measures.'\n\nYour phone sits silent on the desk. You know better than to trust its silence.\n\nThe street sounds of Buenos Aires drift up from below—car horns, footsteps, the distant sound of a radio playing tango. But in your office, there is only the sound of the ceiling fan and your own breathing.\n\nYou have taken many cases before. You have lost sleep over many of them. But something about this case feels different. More dangerous.","suggestedActions":["Read through the military document more carefully","Call Señora Pérez to confirm details about her son and the document","Lock your office door and review your case files from other disappearances","Visit a trusted colleague to ask about similar cases","Search your office for a safe place to keep the document"],"conversation":"cs4t5in7pouf8wqmhgyq"},"conversationLength":1,"maxFreeConversationLength":10}