The city, bathed in the orange glow of twilight, looked almost peaceful from atop the rooftop where Max stood. But Max knew better. He could see the city for what it truly was—a festering wound, barely hidden beneath its thin veneer of tranquility. The battle against Franklin and Carson was just the beginning. There were still shadows lurking in every alley, in every darkened room. And one of those shadows had just reached out to him.
Max's phone buzzed in his pocket, the vibration barely noticeable over the distant hum of traffic. He fished it out, his eyes narrowing as he read the message: **Meet me at the old brewery at midnight. Alone.** The message was unsigned, but Max knew who it was from. There was only one person who would summon him in such a way, and it made his blood run cold.
