Word on the street... Yesterday, Hathian groaned under the weight of growing tension and whispered secrets. Word in the alleys is that the cops are tightening their grip, dragging suspects from the filth kicking and screaming, and the cell block’s nerves are fraying to threads—one even climbed atop a cruiser, damn near daring the law to run her down. At the Clam, careful glances passed between old rivals, and an uneasy peace shimmered like gas on asphalt. Some say a jittery dealer bolted from a patrol, leaving a trail of spice and suspicion on the wind. Amidst broken glass and bruised egos, alliances shift, and resentment simmers—Hathian’s shadows sweeten the air with rumor.
