The city never slept, and neither did the shadows that clung to its every corner. Max Slade knew this truth all too well as he navigated the damp, fog-laden streets. The neon lights flickered with a ghostly glow, casting eerie reflections on the wet pavement. He lit a cigarette, the orange ember briefly illuminating his chiseled features before the darkness swallowed him once more.
Vivian walked beside him, her heels clicking rhythmically on the cobblestones, a steady counterpoint to the chaos around them. She was a vision of defiance against the murky backdrop of their world, her eyes sharp and unyielding. They had taken down Rico Delgado, but the victory felt hollow, a temporary reprieve in an unending war.
"Max," Vivian broke the silence, her voice a low murmur. "What's next?"
Max exhaled a plume of smoke, the bitter tang a small comfort in the night. "We need to find out who else is pulling the strings. Delgado was a pawn, not the king."
