The rain fell in sheets, turning the city's streets into dark, glistening rivers. Max stood under the awning of a dilapidated building, the neon sign of a nearby dive bar flickering like a dying star. He pulled his trench coat tighter, the cold seeping into his bones. The city never slept, but tonight it felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for the storm to pass.
Vivian emerged from the shadows, her silhouette a study in contrasts—tough exterior, vulnerable interior. Her hair was damp, clinging to her face in dark tendrils. She lit a cigarette, the flare of the match casting a brief glow on her features. "You sure about this, Max?"
Max's gaze drifted to the crumpled piece of paper in his hand, the address scrawled in haste. "We've got no choice. If Harper's willing to sell out his soul, there's no telling who else is involved. We need more names, more leverage."
