The rain fell in a relentless torrent, turning the city streets into rivers of filth and forgotten dreams. Max Hastings watched from the window of the dimly lit bar, the neon sign flickering outside casting ghostly reflections on the glass. The war against Lang had ended, but the battle for the city's soul had only just begun.
Evelyn sat across from him, her face half-hidden in shadow, her eyes scanning the room for threats. They had moved to a new safe house, an old speakeasy beneath a derelict hotel, its walls still echoing with the secrets of another era.
"De Luca should be here soon," she said, her voice low and steady. "He has news."
Max nodded, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. The smoke curled around his face, mingling with the dim haze that hung in the air. "Let's hope it's good. We need a break."
