Whispers in the bayou... ░▒░ Down at the docks, they say the man with the scarred knuckles finally got his due—didn’t take kindly to that punk cracking his car window. Leaning close, the blonde in the torn jacket watched as the officer’s grin twisted, the punk’s eyes wide, pain and something darker mingling while talks of selling a filthy video to cover costs slipped through cracked lips. ░▒
▒░ And that wasn’t the only heat rising while the fog thickened—whispers crossed over to the Starlust, where shadows lengthened and a quiet tension gripped the bayou. The chains are burning closer now, and the Silent Serpent’s grip tightens, smuggling powers tangled with curses no one dares name aloud. ░▒
░▒░ One of the Sheriff’s boys caught the tail end, lips sealed but his glance sharp, flicking toward the prison’s shadow as questions linger: who’s really calling the shots when darkness swims beneath these waters? ░▒
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