The city was a symphony of sirens and shadows, the kind of place where dreams came to die and nightmares were born. Max Hastings moved through the streets like a ghost, his mind focused on the task at hand. Kozlov was in custody, but the rot ran deeper. The mayor was in hiding, and rumors of a new player were already surfacing, a specter in the criminal underworld who thrived on chaos.
Max's destination was an old warehouse on the waterfront, a relic of the city's industrial past now repurposed for less savory activities. His contact, a low-level informant named Vinnie, had hinted at a meeting that could blow the lid off the whole operation. But in this city, trust was a currency often spent and rarely earned.
He parked his car in a shadowed alcove and approached the warehouse, the night air thick with the scent of brine and decay. The door was slightly ajar, an invitation and a warning all in one. Max slipped inside, his footsteps echoing in the cavernous space.
