The city at night was a beast of neon veins and concrete bones, a living, breathing entity shrouded in perpetual twilight. Max Slade walked its dark arteries, the rain a cold kiss on his skin, each drop a reminder of the time slipping away. The streets whispered secrets and lies, the hum of distant traffic a constant, dissonant symphony.
He and Vivian had followed the trail of crumbs to the old warehouse district, a desolate area where even the bravest cops wouldn't tread without backup. The buildings stood like sentinels of a forgotten era, their brick facades crumbling under the weight of years and neglect.
"This is the place," Max muttered, his voice lost in the hiss of the rain. He checked the address scrawled on the crumpled piece of paper, the ink smudged but still legible.
Vivian's eyes flickered with unease as she scanned the darkened surroundings. "I don't like it, Max. This feels like a trap."
