The city was a wet carcass under a bleak sky, the morning light barely breaking through the thick, oppressive clouds. Max stood by the window of their hideout, the ledger open in front of him on the rickety table. Each name in that ledger was a key to a door they needed to unlock—a door leading to Marconi's downfall.
Vivian and Elena were asleep on the battered couch, their exhaustion evident in the way they sprawled out, seeking comfort in the cold, hard room. Max took a long drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling around him like the ghosts of their past mistakes. He was bone-tired, but the urgency of their situation kept his mind racing.
A soft knock at the door startled him, his hand instinctively reaching for his gun. He moved silently, his senses on high alert. Through the peephole, he saw the familiar face of Harris, his eyes darting nervously down the hallway.
Max opened the door a crack. "Harris, you're early."
