The dawn broke over the city, pale and wan like the light through a dirty window. The night had been a brutal crucible of violence, leaving the streets in an uneasy hush. Max Slade and Vivian walked away from Salvatore's mansion, their steps heavy with the weight of what they had just accomplished. The chill of the morning cut through the remnants of the night's adrenaline, leaving a cold clarity in its wake.
Max's shoulder ached where the bullet had grazed him, but he kept his face impassive, his eyes scanning the horizon as if the city's future lay somewhere in the misty dawn. Vivian's face was pale, streaked with grime and the occasional smear of blood, but her eyes were hard, resolute. They had struck a blow, but the war was far from over.
