The alley was dark, an abyss between the flickering neon lights of the city. Max Hartwell moved silently, his senses heightened, every shadow a potential threat. The meeting point was a decrepit warehouse, a relic of the city's forgotten past. He slipped inside, the air heavy with the scent of rust and decay.
Inside, the atmosphere was tense. Violet was already there, her eyes scanning the room with the precision of a hawk. Jessica stood beside her, her fingers tapping nervously against her thigh. They were waiting for Larson and his men, the last piece of their fragile alliance.
The door creaked open, and Detective Larson entered, flanked by two officers. Their expressions were grim, the weight of their decision evident in their eyes. "We're here," Larson said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Let's get this done."
