The morning light broke over Neon City like a reluctant promise. Max Hartwell leaned against the hood of his car, the city's skyline a jagged silhouette against the dawn. The events of the previous night still echoed in his mind, a symphony of violence and revelation. Alvarez was in custody, but the game was far from over.
Max lit a cigarette, the smoke curling around his face as he watched the sun struggle to pierce through the smog. Beside him, Elena stood silent, her eyes fixed on the horizon. The victory felt hollow, a fleeting reprieve in their relentless war.
"We got him," Max muttered, the words tasting bitter.
Elena glanced at him, her face unreadable. "Yeah, but it doesn't feel like enough."
Max exhaled a plume of smoke, the tendrils dissipating into the morning air. "It never does. Not in this city."
