The city never sleeps. Not really. Its neon veins pulse with a toxic glow, a reminder that beneath the glittering surface lies a darkness no amount of rain can wash away. As the clock struck midnight, Max Hastings found himself once more a part of that darkness, blending into the crowd that swarmed the streets.
The brief victory over Draven felt hollow. The man was in custody, but the ripples of his operations continued to spread. Somewhere in the bowels of this concrete jungle, a new power was preparing to rise. Max's mind kept returning to Marconi and Kovacs. They were the new players on the board, each with their own agenda, each a piece of the puzzle he needed to solve.
Max's phone buzzed, cutting through the fog of his thoughts. He checked the message, a single line from Elena: **Meet me at the docks. Urgent.**
