The morning dawned grey and sullen, the city awakening under a shroud of mist that clung to the buildings like a phantom's embrace. Max Slade stood at his apartment window, the cigarette in his hand burning down to the filter, its acrid smoke curling around his fingers. The dossier from Hawke lay open on the table behind him, its contents a chilling reminder of the battle ahead.
Vivian stirred on the couch, her eyes heavy with the exhaustion that had settled in their bones. She sat up, running a hand through her tangled hair, and looked at Max with a mixture of concern and determination.
"What's our next move, Max?" Her voice was soft, but it carried the weight of their shared burdens.
Max turned away from the window, the morning light casting long shadows across his face. "We need to follow the money. Drake's power is rooted in his financial backing. If we can cut off his funds, we'll cripple his operation."
