The city's heartbeat was a low, steady thrum beneath the night sky. Max Slade leaned against the brick wall of a dingy alley, his trench coat blending with the shadows. He pulled out a cigarette, the flare of his lighter casting brief light on his hardened face. He inhaled deeply, the smoke a temporary balm to his nerves. The storm they'd weathered left scars, and the fight was far from over.
Max glanced at his watch, the dim glow showing it was just past midnight. He flicked the cigarette away, watching it sizzle in a puddle. They were meeting a new informant tonight, someone with ties to both Renzo's and Vance's operations. This informant was their last lead, a ghost in the criminal underworld.
A figure emerged from the darkness, a woman in a tattered coat, her face obscured by a wide-brimmed hat. She approached with the wary steps of someone used to danger.
"Max Slade?" Her voice was a whisper, carrying the weight of secrets.
