Max Hartwell navigated through the fog-choked streets of the city, the cold night air biting at his skin. Every corner seemed to whisper secrets, every shadow threatened to come alive. The recent events had tangled his mind into knots, but there was no time for unraveling. He had a target on his back now, and Russo's reach was long.
Violet's betrayal still gnawed at him. She had her reasons, sure, but reasons didn't stop bullets. He needed a plan, a new angle, something to tilt the odds in his favor. Max pulled his collar up against the chill and quickened his pace towards his office. It wasn't much, but it was a safe place to think, to regroup.
He entered the dimly lit room, the smell of old paper and stale coffee greeting him. The place felt empty without the usual hum of activity. He locked the door behind him, each click of the lock echoing in the silence. He placed the ledger on his desk and sank into the worn leather chair, letting out a heavy sigh.
